


Post Mortem

by SomberWinter



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Broken prophecy, Depression, F/M, Hero of Time is gone, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Law Enforcement, Link (Legend of Zelda) Needs a Hug, Link is an investigator, Murder, Nightmares, Past Lives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Imbalance, Prophetic Dreams, Romance, The Triforce, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomberWinter/pseuds/SomberWinter
Summary: In the past few centuries, the legacy of the Hero of Time has become nothing but a bedtime story, and the Goddesses are now a chapter in a book, right next to Greek mythology. Everything forgotten, just like that. That is, until a certain investigator with Faron City's Police Department starts investigating a series of strange and unexplained deaths. AU Hero of Time Death; Monthly/Bimonthly Updates.--------------------------------------------------Here, in this world of white and clear waters, he wept. His voice raw, grief-stricken, as it reverberated against eternity. Nothing but her name on his lips. He would have remained there, bent down into the water on hands and knees until his skin swelled, but then the placid water rippled ahead. It forced his gaze upward into the face of death guised in the form of a towering skeleton.'' Wake up, Link ,,(This work also exists on FF.net)
Relationships: Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 37





	1. PITCH

**ONE - PITCH** ****

_ Recommendation: Silhouette by Aquilo _

Autumn wind brushes against tendrils of obsidian, caresses bleached, swollen skin, blankets over milked eyes. Crisp, hostile wind that scatters leafy skeletons and immerses the alleyway in a deafening cacophony of whispers. October skies burn overhead, the setting sun painting the narrow walls and grimey concrete in dark burgundies and vibrant crimsons. The red light is kept on a leash, fingers of sunlight being drawn back as the day settles into night. 

Light that had been witness to the crime was long gone , nearly three hours ago. Artificial lamps and blinding flashes from cameras look upon the death of naked, twenty-eight year old Runa Lara. A pool of blackened blood, dark and rich from age, is caked underneath the corpse in splatters. Its skin is blistered, a sheen of decay painted over paper-white flesh. The corpse’s eyes are rolled back, the whites staring silently to the left wall, and its joints are forced every which way. Fingers are jaggedly pointing in every direction, arms pointing unnaturally underneath, and the legs are jutted out, folded in convolution atop one another. A picturesque jack-in-the-box accentuated by rigor mortis,  discovered by a thirty-three year old homeless man, Giovanni Fargroun. He had  drunkenly  stumbled across  it  when searching for food in  a dumpster somewhere near the mouth of the alley.

_ “I smell it before I  _ _ seen _ _ it… bein’ on the streets as long as me, you don’ forge’ a smell like death, y’know?” _

The scent is a marauder, guised underneath the grandiose city of Faron’s smog, stealing the onslaught of cool, fresh night air and suffocating its victims in a cloud of acidic vomit. Except the stench was something beyond that of death. It was something beyond that of rancid meat, a ways above odorous feces, a hop and a skip past moth balls, rotten eggs, and cabbage. The stench gave the unsettling feeling that there was more than just one, single body lying in the alleyway that was between Malo Mart, Alisha’s Intimacies, and the abandoned Faro-Deli.

“What do you make of this, Link?” Came a leathery voice. Blue eyes remained on the body, gaze unreadable as he stared at the corpse’s open mouth.  He looked stoic, but the hardness in his jaw and the sharpness of his brow ridge said otherwise. “Link?” The mouth of the victim had been pulled open, perhaps by the corpse’s own hands. The skin, along with signs of blistering decay, was littered in thick, long scratches as if the corpse had been tormented with an insufferable, untameable itch. Of course, the nails spoke for themselves. Cuticles were ripped, tattered from overuse, and were layered in blood.

“ _ Investigator _ Link!”

Blue eyes blinked and his gaze flew to his Chief who stood on the other side of the stiff corpse. Chief Bo looked on, beady eyes steadily narrowing as he took in the youthful investigator’s black toboggan, straw blond strands peeking out from the lip of the material in a display of defiance, and radiant sky-eyes that nearly glowed against cloudy skin.  The  Chief’s gaze wandered down, dark eyes skimming over the etched words in the work-issued sweater,  _ Inv L. Geroy _ . 

The black sweater itself, thick and heavy, was clearly far too big for Link Geroy. It bundled him up, surely, but the hem almost brushed against his khaki-covered knees and bunched up in three folds around his waist. He’d likely been stuck with it, considering how few sweaters the department carried. Forced to choose a sweater that was either too small or too large.

The  Chief cleared his throat, “what do you make of this?” 

Link stared for a moment longer which only made the Chief heave a sigh, one that ricocheted against the concrete. The blond-headed investigator’s gaze fell to his small notepad in hand. Graphite scribbles enveloped the small pages, notating his findings, suspicions, and facts in small, all-cap letters. “Judging from the body’s decomposition, the smell, and the stage of rigor mortis, it appears she’s been dead for well over seventy-two hours. No possible weapons were found in the premises.” He paused and leafed through the notepad, “and there does not appear to be any foul play, from what I--”

“Are there any CCTVs nearby?” 

Link flipped  the notepad closed  as he  gravely shook his head, “it seems we’re never that lucky, are we? Why can’t Faron save up and budget in a better CCTV system like Lanayru , ” the Chief scowled. Such a sour expression drew his eyes deeper into their sockets, making his already beady eyes appear even smaller. Almost on the verge of nonexistence. “What about the witness? Giovanni, wasn’t it?”

Link grimaced which only deepened the Chief’s scowl, hiding his eyes from view. Giovanni Fargroun, a drunk meth head, treated jail like a motel and the officers like taxis. Link , himself, had  the unfortunate pleasure of  arresting him on numerous occasions; thirteen public intoxications, two DUIs, and one possession of a firearm felony. Giovanni’s last arrest had been due to burglary, and the arrest had not been by Link’s hands.

After a pregnant silence the Chief got his reply, “yes, I interviewed him. I don’t suspect he is connected to this, it’s not his MO [method of operation] in the slightest.” Link blanched at the memory of witnessing Giovanni’s statement and cursed his sensitivity to smells. Giovanni had likely bathed in sewage, rolled in dog shit, and made snow angels in a pond of wet, molded cat food before he’d gone out to venture in alleyway dumpsters to stumble upon dead bodies. It was a miracle Link had been able to pay any attention to the man, having found a sick fascination with the cloud of flies that constantly gravitated to Giovanni’s head.

“So what’re you speculating?”

The small notepad flipped open again. “Twenty-eight year old Runa Lara has had several charges of prostitution and two recent counts of drug possession as well as a capias  [order for arrest] for a failure to appear. I know she’s delved into more than just Marijuana and Cocaine so I would not be surprised if she ODed [overdosed] on some new opioid.” 

Link gradually settled into a crouch, tucked the notepad in his back pocket, and peered inside the corpse’s gaping mouth. “Then there’s this substance,” his voice fell an octave as he inclined his head toward the Chief, but his gaze never lifted from the torn lips and wide open mouth, “it’s too dark to be blood.” He gestured to the torn lips, bringing the Chief’s attention to the smears of a black ichor. The smearing looked to have been caused by the victim’s hands, and with careful movement, Link picked up the victim’s hand by the wrist with a gloved hand. It was difficult at first, to lift the thin hand up from the pool of dried blood and even harder to position the wrist up thanks to the progression of rigor mortis. With a definite snap the wrist turned and the still hand was pulled upward, palm up to display a hand layered in black.

“Oh Nayru, I think I’m going to be sick.” Came a distant squeak behind him. Link only leaned back on his heels, glanced over his shoulder. Pipit Dovin, his partner and friend from the Academy looked almost as pale as the corpse. His auburn hair was pushed to one side, his stout frame obscured by the department issued coat. No matter how many cases he'd dealt with, Pipit had never quite gotten  control  over his weak stomach.

“Pip, has her family been contacted?” Chief asked. 

Pipit took a moment to recover himself. He averted his gaze, swallowed, and minutely shook his head. “No, but the nearby pub, the bartender stated they'd seen Lara  _ yesterday _ .” Link bolted upright at that, the corpse's hand smacking the concrete with a resounding splat. 

The news of another witness wasn't entirely surprising, Pipit had a knack for  getting statements  in just a few short hours. Granted most of the statements were witnesses  claiming they'd seen a glimpse of the victim; a glimpse that was 9/10 false or misconstrued. However, the possibility, with the body being as decayed as it was, was insane. Unlikely.  _ Impossible. _

“I'm having IT pull their camera footage so we can verify the statement. I know, it's hard to believe, but the bartender described Lara to a  _ T _ . Says she frequents.”

Despite the oddity, the Chief took it in stride, “Well, let’s bag her up and haul her off for autopsy, oh but you’d better swab that black ichor, Link. I don’t think it's been added to evidence. Any suspects?”

At the order, Link trotted off to the cluster of police cruisers and medic vans that barricaded the alley and obscured the view of the crime scene from the curious nightowls of Faron. His cruiser was idling in the middle of the incessant yet rhythmic emergency lights, the blues and reds smothering him in swaths, right next to the Chief’s SUV. It had taken him a moment to fish through the mess that was his trunk, looking through every nook and cranny for the medical kit and evidence bag. It wasn’t until Pipit had appeared at his side that he’d found them nestled in-between his lockbox and backup bulletproof vest. 

“So, I heard that it’s going to be  _ someone’s  _ birthday soon. When were you going to tell me?” Link looked up to stare at his partner, his face having digressed to a blankslate. “What? Birthdays are important and should be celebrated!”

He shoved the medical kit onto Pipit’s chest and said, “who told you?”

“Oh, come on, Link! You are always like this when special holidays come around.”

“Birthdays aren’t holidays.”

“But they’re just as important.”

“You said that already.” Link slammed the trunk lid shut with a definite thud. “It’s not like twenty-seven is anything to get excited for.” That earned him a roll of the eyes, but he’d turned his back to Pipit at this point and had begun his short trek back to the crime scene with his partner hot on his heels. 

It should have been unnerving to casually talk about birthdays when there was a dead woman taking up the majority of their night, but distractions, jokes and off-topic talks were what kept them sane.

“Why do you get so pissy around your birthday? I mean, you do know that Malon intends on throwing you a surprise party… right? Yeah, I know, not really a surprise now, but with the way you’re acting, I figured a warning would be nice.” It only earned him a sigh from Link who had fallen back into a crouch before the body. Despite his weak stomach, Pipit joined him at his side but kept his eyes averted as Link snapped open the pearly-white medical kit. 

He’d pulled out two cotton swabs and two thin, glass vials before Pipit continued. “Does Malon know you get all pissy when your birthday is mentioned?” That rewarded him a steady stare and an evolving frown. “Have you even told her your birthday is coming up?”

“She wrote it down on our calendar. She’s known, and yes, she does know how much I ‘enjoy’ birthdays.”

“Yet she still insists, how sweet.”

“It’s a pain.”

“What kind of pole did you stick up your ass?”

“Stop sign this time. Honestly, I don’t enjoy birthdays in the slightest. There’s nothing to look forward to, you’re one day closer to death, and holidays and celebrations are better off with… well, a family, aren’t they?”

Pipit stood as soon as Link sealed off the evidence bag that contained two capped vials. “Farore,  usually Groose is like this, what’s up with you? You sure do get pessimistic. And you’re still being anal about having a family? Man, isn’t Malon living with you? She’s like your wife by now.”

“It’s not the same, Pip. Regardless, you wouldn’t understand.”

_ Recommendation: The Lonely Road by Adrian Von Ziegler _

After the collection and assessment of evidence and the mounds of paperwork, Link shut off the ignition of his cruiser and sunk back into the driver’s seat. It was roughly four in the morning and by the look of the single lit up window at his flat, Malon had stayed up to wait for him. He stared at the soft glow that peeked out from white blinds through his living room window until the interior of the car grew cold. 

Only then did he open the car door and battle the cold autumn night. The crisp embrace of icy winds chilled him through his sweater as he headed up the stairs. He paused only once to take a long, steady inhale of the cold, tasting the promise of winter, before exhaling and fishing in his side pockets for his house key. 

As per usual, Malon was discovered sprawled out on the couch with Netfly accompanying her snores with sounds of cheesy romances. She was snuggled underneath three thick quilts, her long red hair fanned out to one side. He turned to slip off his boots quietly by the door before shutting off the small heater by the coffee table. It silenced with an obnoxious click that always did the trick in rousing her. 

Dark cerulean eyes fluttered open and a melodic smile brushed across her lips as soon as she set her gaze on Link. “How long were you awake?” Malon’s smile persisted as she sat up at his question. She briefly looked to the silver clock above the kitchen peninsula, registering the late hour, before looking back at him and extending a hand. He gradually, almost tenderly, caught her hand in his and she pulled him toward her until his knees hit the edge of the couch. “Not long. Till about ten, I think.” 

She shuffled on the couch until she’d moved her legs from underneath the quilts to rest on either side of Link’s legs. There she peered up at him with her everlasting smile and caught the gaze of fatigue underneath his eyes, the shadow of bitterness on his jaw, and the tightness of unease on his brow. Her hand tightened on his own, fingers intertwined. “Rough day?”

“I thought it would never end. Had to deal with a dead body.” Her smile flickered at the sound of his voice. It’s weighed down with exhaustion, dried out by stress and accented by something that she can’t quite define. Realistically, his voice and mannerisms were plagued by fatigue the moment he’d enrolled into the Academy, but lately, recently, she’d noticed a slight change in him. It was faint, almost nonexistent, but she’d noticed it.

“Everything okay?”

She’d asked the question before when she’d first noticed it, the evolved mannerisms and the quiet signs. He would usually reply with a smile, distracting her with a kiss on the crown and a murmur of her alias, Mal, with adoration. However, the smile that took shape on his face was brittle. 

“More or less, but…” his gaze averted her own to look at the clock face near the kitchen, “the dreams, they’re getting worse. And today I thought I was still  _ dreaming _ . The crime scene, the body, was exactly as I’d dreamt.” Concern was thick on his throat as he finally relented his bitter realization. He’d only shared a few dreams, nightmares, that kept him up most nights. More often than not, he’d claim they were a blur and couldn’t recall them as soon as he’d awoken from one. It was undoubtedly a lie, she’d learned that quickly. After a dream that left him sweating and struggling with phantoms, he’d always, without fail, stay wide-awake the rest of the night.

“It could be deja vu, that’s a common thing for dreams. Our lives become so mundane that we end up dreaming-”

“ _ Every detail _ .” Link stated grimly as his gaze bore into hers. For a brief moment she caught a swirl of emotion within his blue eyes, fear or hesitancy, but then he closed his eyes and pulled away. She followed after him as he made a beeline to the kitchen. The desire to comfort him was strong, something akin to an itch, but she kept a distance as he began pilfering through one of the cupboards above the oven. 

The kitchen itself was small, roughly fifteen feet long and ten feet wide, with white-faced, cherry-wood topped counters that took up three feet along two walls. Most of the counter space was taken up by the large sink, toaster oven, a vase of fake flowers, and the finicky oven that had surely seen better days. The only true space, untouched by appliances, was the peninsula. It was the border between the kitchen and the living room, and it stood tall next to a cherrywood pillar that connected from the floor to the wall at its corner. Above it was a beam of identical color where two lights--they hadn’t worked in over two months--hung.

Malon tipped against the peninsula with crossed arms as Link pulled out a green bottle with _Glenfiddich_ plastered over it and a square tumbler. He’d joined her on the opposite side of the peninsula within four even strides, and settled the bottle and glass between them. Blessed with a sensitive stomach, Malon wasn’t much of a drinker. Despite this, once Link had poured two fingers’ worth of scotch, he offered it to her with a flick of his eyes.  
“I’m good. It looks like you may need it more than I.” She grimaced at her choice of words. “But today, was the victim murdered or-”  
Link clutched the tumbler closely, tipped it to his lips only to draw it back at her question, “Overdose most likely.” He drew out a sip, knocking most of the smooth scotch down in one gulp. “There was no visible sign of foul play, but…” his eyes settled over the sliver of leftover Glenfiddich before lying the tumbler back on the counter.

“But?”

He caught her gaze and poured two more fingers of Glenfiddich. “The body’s decomposition doesn’t match up with a witness’s statement.” His second sip was much more gingerly than the last. The second time offered him a bit of warmth and a honeyed smoothness, he could taste it as easily as he’d felt the promise of winter outside. It only lasted for the briefest of moments, and as soon as it wilted he took yet another sip. 

Malon shifted and propped her chin up with both hands. Although he hadn’t disclosed any other information, she’d connected the dots. The victim’s rate of decomp must have not reflected the timeline the witness had given. “The body was taken to Valoo, right? I’m sure the autopsy will be able to tell you something, maybe give a reason as to why the decomp was so progressive… if the witness is a reliable source.”

Valoo was where Malon worked as a pediatrician. It was the closest hospital on their side of Faron’s city, and it was the closest hospital within a twenty mile radius of the Runa Lara’s body. 

Link downed the rest of the scotch before giving a short nod. It’s all he gave as he took the bottle and tumbler from the peninsula. Placing the tumbler next to the sink and the bottle back above the oven, he’d met Malon across the peninsula again. Gently grasping both of her wrists, his thumbs circling her palms, he’d said, “It’s an ongoing case for the moment, so I’ll leave it at that. Besides, it’s four in the morning.”

“But  _ are you okay _ ?” She asked him quietly then as she leaned further until her forehead brushed against the bangs that stuck out from his beanie. Her eyes leveled with his, staring intently as she read each and every raw emotion that danced within the blue depths. 

“I’m fine, just tired.” It was a lie, and she’d regrettably expected it. Then he added, most likely because of her arched eyebrow, “look, I haven’t slept for almost twenty-four hours. I was probably sleep walking or so tired that I was mixing some dream up with today.”

“Link, don’t feed me that bullshit.” The curse halted his rhythmic caress of her palms. “You do this all the time. You can’t just tell me something that’s clearly bothering or hurting you and then pretend that it’s not that big of a deal with some lousy excuse. Now, I’ll ask again, are you okay?”

Link loosened his hold on her wrists, his eyes narrowing a fraction for the breath of a second. He quickly came to the realization that he  _ shouldn’t  _ have mentioned it, what he’d encountered today. It wasn’t because of her outburst as that was common and understandable. No, now she’d worry over him incessantly. More so than she usually did. It wasn’t all bad having a concerned girlfriend, but Malon typically made herself  _ sick _ with worry. That and she had a knack for not letting things go, especially when he was involved. It was why he often didn’t share his nightmares or problems. Besides, she had too much on her plate as it was, and Link didn’t want to keep adding to it. However, that was becoming immensely difficult thanks to the Faron City Police.

“It’s just a dream, Mal.” Using his nickname for her with a smile as an added bonus was definitely a dirty tactic. Yet saying her nickname, the name that only he was allowed to call her by, helped ease his mind. He used it to help quell his distress from her vigilant gaze. It seemed to do the trick as she reluctantly took his hands in hers before nodding. 

“All right, just… just know that I’m here when you need me, yeah?”

“As I am for you. Now, shall we go to bed, preferably before five?”

* * *

_ Recommendation: Emerge Part 1 by Ruelle _

A flash of brilliant light struck against complete darkness, coated the void of black with scenery of a field. Dead grass spread on for miles, ended at the curve of a faroff hill dotted with the backdrop of some massive, stone structure. The light had flashed too suddenly, showered the realm with the tree-less field before slipping back into solid black. When it came again, accompanied with a deafened boom, the world swept into a field of blood and black ichor. 

He steadily looked down then, the light suspended somewhere overhead in a sea of clouds, and gasped at his blood-caked hands. All but his nails dripped with blood, his cuticles covered in a thick layer of black ichor that looked all too familiar. He stared at them, twisted his hands around so that he could see the back of them only to freeze on the spot. A white mark, shaped like a triangle inaugurated by three smaller triangles, pulsed on the back of his left hand.

Then a movement, somewhere before him, drew his attention from the foreign mark. Suspended light withered away and he strained against the darkness until another flash of light battled the gloom. Only this time, the bloodied fields were obscured by death. Naked carcasses strewn about, formed a sea of paper skin, snowy eyes, and silent mouths. The flesh white and cracked, seemingly thin underneath the withering light, and painted in the same red that colored the dead grass.  
“Link.”  
His name is whispered beneath him, the voice instantly familiar as it fills him with gut-wrenching dread. Heavy, hollow, _fear_ , he looked again at his hands only to find that they are wrapped tightly around a body. He clutched it close to his chest, the crook of his left arm cradling the ginger crown. Its cerulean eyes grow distant. Colors ebbing away as the body’s cold seeped through his clothes, consumed him.

“M-Malon. Malon!” His voice hoarse and quiet despite the fear that clawed up his spine. He shook her, her head lolled in his grasp, and then the last sign of life wilted away.

Just like that,  _ gone _ .

“No-no-no-no, Malon. Malon, wake up. Wake up, dammit!” His fingers pawed and trembled at her arms, her face, her hair. “Please, goddess, why. Not again.” He’s rocking now, ragged voice cracked underneath the pressure of emotion. 

No, not again. He couldn’t lose another, not like this. 

The flash of light punctured anew, and this time it remains. Within an instant it devoured the scenery and stripped Malon away from his arms. He falls forward, bloodstained fists splashed into crystal clear water. The water was hard to perceive against the whiteness until it licked away the blood on his hands and knees.   
Here, in this world of white and clear waters, he wept. His voice raw, grief-stricken, as it reverberated against eternity. Nothing but her name on his lips. He would have remained there, bent down into the water on hands and knees until his skin swelled, but then the placid water rippled ahead. It forced his gaze upward into the face of death guised in the form of a towering skeleton. 

The sudden intrusion drew him to lurch, flail backwards as quickly as his shaking limbs allowed, but the skeleton pursued. Garbed in broken armor dressed in rust and vines, it's only visible eye glowed a brilliant red against a shroud of black.  
_Wake up, Link._

The voice grated across his mind, pierced his soul, and froze him to the spot. The armored skeleton advanced until it was but a foot away from him. Only then does his breath catch as his gaze fell to the weathered blade within its left hand. 

_ Wake up. _

That crude blade, sullied by time, pressed against his neck.

_ Link,  _ he managed a ragged inhale as it cut against his skin, w _ ake up. _

* * *

Link scrambled against the twist of blankets as he leapt up from his pillow. A veil of temporary darkness clouded his vision, and he nearly shouted obscenities when a cool hand grasped his sweat covered arm. “Link!” Her voice drew a pained gasp. Images of her lifeless body crowded him and pulled the breath from his lungs.

“Link, it’s okay. Just a dream, it’s okay.” The veil of black drifted away at her words, and he found himself staring straight into sea colored irises. Malon repeated the assurances until Link’s breath calmed, until his eyes no longer looked so lost, so distant. Then they sat there amongst the blankets until Link’s sweat cooled. Yet she never once removed her hand from his arm, fingers wrapped gently around his bicep.

She waited in silence, battled between questioning him or waiting for him to speak, until she caught Link’s eyes flickering to the clock on her side of the bed. She did the same, catching the red glow in a glance--6:22am. Then his gaze met hers in a suffocating stare. His sky eyes were flayed open, riddled with horrors in tandem with haunting fear that she couldn’t interpret. A fear that she couldn’t define. The intensity drew her to look away and cautiously relinquish her hold on his arm.

As soon as she did, he escaped. Without a word he slipped out from beneath the tangled covers and vanished into the bathroom. He’d done it so many times before that she’d stopped asking him to stay and talk to her.  _ I’ve got to get ready for work,  _ but she knew better. It was a cop out, a way to disguise whatever demons he battled with at night.

_ It’s just a dream, Mal,  _ but she knew better. 

* * *

Faron City Police Department’s musty headquarters was boxy and the very epitome of obsolete. All but one desktop computer was a clunky monstrosity with an obnoxiously buzzing monitor and a warbling tower. There were six desks in total, aligned two in a row, in the center of the prefecture’s police station. Only two were accompanied by a printer, both of which sang with a voice from  _ The Grudge _ and encountered a paper jam with every fifth page. The latest computer, the only one in the station that didn’t warble louder than its user’s thoughts, was located in the cramped and cluttered office of the Criminal Investigations Divisions. It was placed on one of the five desks, the one that was offset to the room’s centre. All other desks aligned the walls, the desk chairs in close proximity of one another. There was only a slip of a space for one file cabinet that held the past six months of CID cases, and it sat close to the office door, making it almost impossible to open the door to its full reach.

Pipit looked like a cautionary light today, having worn a yellow turtleneck with a black “FCPD” yellow print ball cap. It made him incredibly easy to find, small office or not. Link found his partner at the station’s latest computer. Stacks of files and a handful of coffee mugs posted on either side of the computer crowded Pipit as he click-clacked away. Due to the rarity of recent technology--albeit a Windows 7 operating system was rather old, but not as old as Windows XP--the computer was often used for video scrubbing and intel gathering. The other computers in the department couldn’t withstand the demand from most of the up to date DVR software let alone the current version of internet browsers.

Link’s cohort perked up as soon as he’d walked up to the back of the desk chair. “Hey, did you get my text?” Was all he’d asked before plucking up what Link hoped was his coffee mug amidst the other five that rested beside him. 

Link shed his jacket and slotted himself between a stack of files and the desk chair, peering over the man’s shoulder at the screen. “Yeah, we’re over the Lara case.” He caught Pipit’s grimace out of his peripherals. Apparently Pipit had grabbed the wrong coffee mug.  
“Right-o. Chief suspects it’s an OD [overdose], but he assigned us the wonderful task of checking back up with that bar that Lara frequented, Ghoma Pub.” Pipit logged out of the desktop as he spoke, “And the bartender, the witness, is-” he’d swiveled in the seat, nearly smacked Link with the back of the chair, and abruptly stopped. “Man, you look like death. You okay?” 

The attempt of a good natured laugh that followed was dry and nervous.  “Never been better. So when does Ghoma open?” Link averted his eyes as his partner rose. Pipit rolled up a yellow sleeve to reveal a silver faced, Timex with brown leathered straps. Every time he saw it, Link couldn’t help but grin. Pipit had always been terrible with keeping up and managing time, and so Link had given him the Timex to both commemorate their first year as partners and to help him with his time issues.  With a jolt he realized  that’d been four years ago.

“We’re meeting him at 10, here. He should be bringing a copy of the camera recordings too. Chief also wants us to check into the businesses in that area again, but Malo Mart’s store owner has refused cooperation. Besides that, most of them will be opening this morning around 11 or so.”

Link swallowed a sigh as he maneuvered out from between the desk and chair. “Then we’ve got three hours to look through the statements you’d procured, the notes I’d taken, and the crime scene pictures.” Three hours was relatively time-constraining, but when it came to the Lara case… it was just a tad overkill. “What about the autopsy report?”

They moved to the adjacent desk as Pipit said, “last I heard, they were still trying to get an identification on that black substance.”

Link took a moment to follow, the news of the autopsy taking a moment to sink in… because that… that sounded  _ strange _ . Granted, Lara was considered an OD victim. The demand to get autopsy results from Valoo were not as high for ODs. Still, the hospital was often helpful and reliable, supplying the necessary information for any and all cases that the FCPD encountered in a matter of hours. “Do they have a cause of death or a potential drug at least?” his partner gave a shake of the head, no.

Of course, that wasn’t the  _ only  _ strange thing about Lara’s case. As soon as 10 o’clock passed and the owner of Ghoma arrived with a disc in hand, things just got weirder. It was one hour into scrubbing the bar’s video recordings from two days ago when Link and Pipit came across the sight of Runa Lara waltzing into Ghoma at approximately 10pm. She was garbed in a dress that - even over a low-resolution recording - looked grotesquely skin tight and much too shiny, even  with the dimness of the bar . Just as Ghoma’s owner had said, she’d gotten two drinks within three hours. No one confronted her, and she stayed at the bar counter until 1am when she got up to leave.

As Pipit sped the video up, perhaps hoping to see her return in disarray or catch someone following after her, Link’s gaze lowered to the timestamp on the video. “This can’t be right...  are we sure the camera has the right date and time? ”

Pipit nodded, “Here’s where I entered the day we discovered the body, look, it's the right time.”

Link’s fingers dug into the palm of his hand in an attempt to keep a cold shiver at bay. But much to his dismay, it failed. He just couldn’t shake this gut feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

* * *

_ Song Recommendation: Can’t Stop Me Now by Oh The Larceny  _

Morning light, dressed in ribbons of gold and burgundy, struggled through the thick, tinted glass that overlooked the city of Lanayru. Its light crowded by the artificial bulbs overhead that aligned the walls all along a spacious office. The office itself was colored in a myriad of slate maroon shelves, and tanned, off-white walls. Against each portion of wall sat a short, glass covered shelf that held remnants of history. Artifacts from a time long forgotten, each individually sealed under glass and  illuminated in a white glow from the bulbs underneath the casing.

Close to the backdrop of the soft, red skies and the bustling city, towered a large, black L-shaped desk. Its desktop was relatively tidy except for the laptop dock, the slate gray briefcase, and the tanned man that leaned against it. 

The man’s voice was deafeningly cold, “I don’t want excuses, Fado.” Yet his eyes were  even colder, piercing like an Antarctic iceberg , accented by an intensity that only drew the blond-haired man before him to shudder all the more. That steady gaze drilled through the man’s very soul as he fought against the burning urge to fall to his knees and beg.

He looked upon his boss with limitless anxiety, hands wringing themselves subconsciously, “But I-I only-”

“Honestly, did you think I wouldn’t notice a shipment missing here, a storage container missing there?”

“Mr. Dragmire, please I-”

“I let it go for a while, your disloyalty.” Dragmire lazily flipped open his suit jacket, revealing the metal piece strapped snugly to his ribs, “after all, there’s nothing as exhilarating as catching prey in the act, but then you got greedier. Thought you could whisk away the Kakariko-Goron trade route from underneath me.” 

“What?” Fado blanched, “I, that wasn’t-” he stopped again as the man with the steel gaze withdrew the firearm from its holster. Fado paled as the gun barrel effortlessly levelled up toward his forehead.

“You should know by now, I take betrayals  _ very  _ seriously.” Fado  closed  his eyes and  audibly gulped.  He tried to steady himself, anchor himself down on the heavy thump of his heart beat .  The sound of the hammer cocking back brought forth a whimper. Dragmire rolled his eyes, and pulled the trigger. Blood twinkled in the morning light, and he watched  stoically  as the  traitorous  man fell to the ground.

Dragmire sighed and  turned to  pick up his office phone, “ Milly , clean this up.”

“Of course, sir.” Was the reply. He set the phone  back  down, and moved around his desk to the glass wall. He stood there overlooking the city, a nd as he felt the warmth of the sun on his face, h is face split into a smile. He was that much closer. He could smell it, although  that was  possibly the gunpowder in the air.


	2. TOXICATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case concerning Runa Lara is beginning to look like more than just a typical drug OD. The toxicology results that Valoo gives the FCPD isn’t helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews, I am so glad some have found this interesting! I have decided to try and stick to a monthly update, so between 23-27th every month you should see a new chapter for Mortem. 
> 
> Just in time too because we're about to see some interesting things this chapter!

**_**** Chapter Warning_ ** **_\- This chapter contains a reference to a very real and very lethal drug._ ** _ This drug (Krokodil) is not common due to its outcome, and it is known as a flesh eating drug. I highly recommend that you do not search for information pertaining to this drug if you have a weak stomach. I wanted to reference this drug for toxicology, as the chemical found is used in the named drug which is why it is initially thought of by the medical examiner. This series is rated for reasons involving violence, drug and alcohol use, and other adult/suggestive themes. _

**TWO - TOXICATE**

* * *

_ Recommendation: Murder Song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) Acourstic by AURORA _ __

The bitter taste of coffee did little to quell the exhaustion that brimmed from Pipit’s eyes. With mug in-hand, he leaned over Link’s shoulder to watch the Ghoma footage for what felt like the two hundredth time. A sigh resonated beneath him, a mutter followed after, “This just doesn’t add up Pip.” Link paused the footage and finally drew away from the screen. Unlike Pipit, he was wide awake. 

“You’re telling me. I still don’t believe it… even after the…” Pipit’s eyes slide to the time display on the desktop. His eyes squinted against the harsh light of the monitor, mouth twisting into a grimace, “nine hours of scrubbing through footage. Damn, nine hours?”

Link mimicked his displeasure with an equally  disgusted face.  The perplexing video had already taken up too much of their time, precious time that they could’ve been using to find and pursue witnesses.  Granted, they had already created a timeline and analysis of her life and routines thanks to social media, just not the  timeline surrounding her death . 

Link sighed, his fingers gripping the bridge of his nose  as  he continued to run the footage over in his mind,  “and we’re no closer to finding out what happened to her. There’s no way it’s as simple as an OD.” 

Pipit took another audible sip from his mug before finally setting it down on the desk. “Well, let’s verify that with Valoo. Surely they’re done now,” he said. “I’ll give them a call if you update the Chief on the evidence.”  _ Lack thereof you mean?  _ Regardless of his internal snark, Link nodded, but Pipit had already taken the initiative and  was heading out of the office .

As soon as Pipit walked through the door, the office plunged into distorted silence. It wasn’t deafening if Link considered the computer hums that took the place of his partner’s voice. Nevertheless, it was still unnerving as he turned back around in the chair to stare at the frozen image of Ghoma’s bar counter. It’d been paused just as Runa Lara had gotten up from her barstool, and the more he stared at her blurred figure, the more he felt his focus drift to the file somewhere to his left. It burned, this slender caress of premonition that rode up his spine. Tickling each vertebrae, one at a time. Maybe it was from a dream he had before he’d come across her crime scene, maybe it was the nightmares, or maybe it was from experience in dealing with cases that involved a deceased victim. Regardless of the reason, he found himself slowly moving his hand over to the minala colored folder in front of him. The soft sound of the cover hitting the desk snapped in his ear like a gunshot. He’d opened it absently, but he could neither stop himself nor stop the violent thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Runa Lara’s snowy face, peeled and withered, stared back with eyes that he’d seen way too many times in dreams that plagued him at night. The next photograph was of her hands, the fingers appeared jagged from either broken bones or a case of rigor mortis, and the nails looked ripped up to the lunula [upper white part on nail]. Then there was that black ichor, an ooze that had accompanied his nightly dreams just as much as the eyes of death. The premonition he’d felt only intensified as he finally snapped the folder shut, and collected it up alongside their notes and printed screenshots into a large stack. He’d paused once more to stare at the screen before turning off the groaning desktop, and hastily making an exit for the Chief’s office with evidence in hand.

The Chief wasn’t in his office, but Link found him in the poor excuse for a kitchenette next to the coffee maker that had surely seen better days. It was as old, if not older, as the bulky computers. It had once been made of translucent glass, but age and use had long ago stained it yellow. The kitchenette was likely six by six feet, dusted with age bleached blues and grays. It was just enough room for a chest freezer, a stove, and a counter and a half. It had once held a fridge, but that appliance had broken years ago and had just recently been replaced with the miniature freezer. Thankfully the stove top had always worked, especially now as the Chief babysat the yellowed percolator that steamed above the stove. 

Balding head glistened sharply underneath the single light of the kitchenette when Chief Bo looked up. He glanced at the stack of papers and a folder tucked between Link’s arm and ribs before addressing him, “Need some coffee?”

“No, but I would like to go over what Pipit and I found on the Lara case.”

The pectoral began to boil, and the Chief moved quickly to dial down the heat. “You make it sound like she didn’t overdose.”

* * *

Forest green linoleum and chocolate brown walls, accompanied by a fair-haired receptionist click-clacking away at a computer, and a small section off to the right filled to the brim with dark gray chairs greeted the two investigators as they sauntered through the rotating doors of Valoo Hospital. Link had to pause, trailing behind Pipit, as the assorted smell of acrid disinfectants took his senses by the reins. The receptionist sat at a counter that arched against the ground, creating a semi-circle that connected to two pillars. Valoo’s name swept across the counter’s front in thick font, and Link had to stare at it long and hard, drawing his thoughts away from the suffocating smell of chemicals. 

His partner leaned against the desk while he gradually stepped up behind him. The gingered officer smiled kindly to the woman who had only glanced up from her monitor once at the sound of the door. “Hey miss, Link and I are from FCPD, and we’re looking for Runa Lara’s medical file.”

Her eyes were an ethereal green, the color of dew on leaves and grass in the spring, as she briskly pulled her gaze upward. Pale face twisted into what Link could only determine as concern as she stood up. “Yes, we’ve been expecting you all. I’ll let him know that you’re here. Give me one moment.” She held up a dainty finger as she reached for the corded phone underneath the reception counter, and she dialed with a free hand before turning away from them. It was then that Pipit glanced at him with an arched brow.

In minutes, a presumed doctor garbed in dark green scrubs stepped out of the bend in a hall that connected to the lobby beyond the reception desk. He maneuvered quickly as he rounded the desk. Long black hair was tied back in a bun, a stethoscope hung from his sun-tanned neck, and a manilla folder rested between his thumb and pointer finger. In his other hand is a clear bag containing various tubes and marked bottles. Link recognized him almost immediately as one of Malon’s friends, Renado. The man’s last name escaped him, but the flash of a carded name tag caught his attention as Renado stopped a few feet before them.  _ Diener [autopsy technician] Renado Saman _ .

“Hello gentleman,” Renado smiled kindly and spoke with a voice twisted with an accent uncommon in Farore. It was a mix of Goronian and Gerudian, two native races from Eldin, Hyrule, clipped at the beginning and drawled out at every vowel enunciation. He waved the file in hand until his smile dwindled, “I’m afraid you won’t find the toxicology report very helpful. There are subtle signs of Desomorphine, and it is speculated that Runa Lara had ingested Krokodil. Of course, considering her state of decay and the amount of Desomorphine, that’s unlikely. It could have been remnants of another opioid. Whatever it is, it was mixed into the black liquid substance that we found to be on Lara’s body as well as in her intestines, lungs, and pulmonary valve of her heart.”

“How long until we can get the black substance tested by Hyrule’s forensic lab?” Link asked.

“As soon as you give me the necessary paperwork, or I can give you a sample and you can send it off yourselves. Either way, it will probably take the lab a month or so. I hear that Lanayru’s crime rate has gone up significantly in the past year and their constant drug cases have been swamping the lab.”

Pipit folded his arms against his chest. “Can you give us your opinion on what the black stuff could be?”

Renado’s arm settled back to his side, file still in hand as his eyes drew to the floor. “It reminds me of ink, but it’s thicker. Maybe thicker than molasses. We did find particles, grains of some sort, in the same black colored substance inside her body. However, the substance on the exterior is a finer liquid, no grains.”

“Grains?” Pipit’s nose wrinkled.

“We attempted to clean them off, but it was… strangely difficult. They were very sensitive to temperature. I cannot be for certain but it looked like remnants of glass.”

The three stood in silence then as the newfound information pushed against them. A premonition lingered in the antiseptic ridden air, curdling the longer the quiet remained. A new drug, possibly, or maybe something else entirely. Regardless, it was clear, Runa Lara’s death was an impossible conundrum.

Quiet follows after the officers as Pipit takes the file and bag of additional evidentiary items. It’s only when they step out of the hospital that Link audibly cursed. Pipit nodded subtly as they crossed the street to the blindingly white Crown Victoria cruiser, the bag rustling as they walked.

“Yeah, this is definitely shit. No leads thus far, but at least we know the cause of death. Whatever she swallowed or shot up flooded her lungs.” The ginger officer slipped into the driver’s seat, placed the bag gently between the seats while Link slipped in on the passenger’s side. “Here’s to hoping there’s something useful in the bag.” Pipit peeled back his sleeve, glancing at his watch as he sifted through his key ring with a freehand. “But first we should hit up the businesses by the crime scene.” The cruiser stuttered to life.

* * *

_ Recommendation: Way Down We Go by KALEO _

Mold and staticy folk music enveloped Link as soon as he stepped into Farore’s one and only Malo Mart. Cracked linoleum of olive green and unrecognizable stains stared up at them as the bell overhead chimed in greeting. 

Malo Mart was a small drugstore off Ordona Avenue with a set of windows that looked out onto the street. Windows of which were plastered with expired ads and a single, faded store hours sign that was almost as illegible as the storefront signage. The store sign was sun bleached, blues and reds worn and weathered down to shades of gray. Its words barely legible even with the string of flickering lights that aligned the bold font.

Dilapidated shelves sat across the small expanse of the floor, barely four feet apart from one another. Shelves of which were sparsely stocked, coated in a visible layer of dust. The register counter was on the far-side, the space beyond the counter hidden mostly by the displays and the countertop candy-dispenser that had an equal layer of dust as the shelves. 

Pipit had claimed he’d come to Malo Mart many times before. The owner of the small store had been known for his drug usage in the past and thus he’d had many run-ins with the law. Pipit had been only one out of many officers the owner had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with. It’s why Pipit took the lead, Link following close on his heels as they neared the register. 

Malo was a short, stubby man in his late thirties with a rather large head. His dark hair balding in the middle. It created a barren circle of skin at his crown which reminded Link of a monk’s balding head. The man was garbed in what looked to be blue and white golf pants and a hard-collared, buttonless shirt of gray that looked much too small for him. He sat atop a stool facing the store as without it he’d likely be no taller than the counter. His attention had been on the money in his register’s drawer when they’d entered. That is, until Pipit tapped against the counter.

Malo looked up once before sharply sliding his till drawer closed. When his gaze returned, he only looked at Pipit’s hands. “We’re not here to buy anything.” Pipit explained briskly as he motioned to the silver badge clipped to his belt. The gesture didn’t do him any good though. Malo was too short to see the police-issued badge, but he caught on quickly enough. In fact, Link watched as the man’s recognition evolved into sudden, defensive tension. He reared up atop his stool, straightening uncomfortably.

“Then what do you want? I haven’t done anything. I’ll have you know I’ve been clean-”

Link’s partner shook his head, waved a hand dismissively, “No, Malo,  _ we  _ are  _ not  _ here for  _ you _ .” The emphasis did little to assure Malo as he still remained as tense as a bowstring.

“Then whom are you here for?”

“We would like access to your CCTVs that look out into the street, if possible.”

Link watched with fascination as Malo’s face changed from cloudy white to tomato red. Honestly, he would never understand why it was so hard for businesses to give up their video footage. Most notably, it was from local businesses. Chains didn’t much care unless it involved one of their employees, but locals always acted as if they had shifty workings under the table. “We just want to be sure that Runa Lara passed through here.” He added, and watched as Pipit fished out his cellphone.

“Runa Lara was found dead,” Pipit informed as he held his phone out to the store owner, “in the alleyway off of Yeta Street.” His tone had softened considerably, a sudden change that Link surmised was from watching the short man before them visibly deflate.

Malo reached for the phone, fingers brushing at the case’s edges as he studied the picture of none other than Runa, and let loose a haggard sigh. “Oh, Ru.” The alias was spoken softly, barely heard above the hum of store music. “I knew those drugs would get the best of her one of these days…” the graveness was shared as Pipit hesitantly drew his phone away and met Link’s eyes.

There was a question there, should they share their speculations? A question to which Link subtly shook his head.  _ No, adding inconclusive speculation would only make the poor guy even more depressed.  _

As the two communicated in small gestures, Malo’s gaze had fallen to his shoes. Poor Ru, he’d tried to help her. He really had, but she’d been stubborn and weak. The withdrawals, she claimed, were just too much to bear. Yet surely those withdrawals would have been much easier to handle over death. “I saw her yesterday. She looked completely fine then, her usual self…” his voice withered. Maybe he should have been harder on her, been more supportive. If he’d done more to help her, maybe she’d have cleaned up. Maybe she’d be alive.

“Did she happen to say anything to you like if she was going somewhere, seeing someone?” 

Malo didn’t look up from his sneakers. “Not really, no. She had only come in to by her usual, a wheat bagel with goat cheese spr--wait! She did mention a new drug on the street. I forget the name of it though. Ru is typically a meth user, but the drug she’d talked about was something else… an opioid without a doubt.”

“Do you have any recollection of how it may have sounded? And did Lara ever mention if she tried it or where the drug could be purchased?”

“I don’t know, I can’t remember. I barely remember what I ate for breakfast.”

There was a shared sigh amongst the officers, and Pipit pockets his phone and wraps a knuckle on the counter. “Were you working here for the whole night or did you close up shop earlier than usual yesterday?”

Malo’s head snapped up then and he cocked an eyebrow, “Are you asking for an alibi? Of course I was here all damn night. My cameras can attest to that. Besides, why should I need an alibi if Ru ODed!”

“Ah, you’re right on that. Thanks.” There was a flash of a smile, a parting, before Pipit drew away and briskly headed for the door. He brushed past Link who waved with an accompanied, “Thanks for your help,” before falling into step behind his partner. 

The bitter air that greeted them past the door of Malo Mart made the coffee from this morning seem much sweeter and warmer than it had been. It’s only when the storefront door closes that Pipit begins to grumble a few choice words, most of which Link can’t quite piece together except for the “lying ass” bit. He dove into the street, spurred on by the cold air, and left Link to travel behind and burrow deeper into his tent-like sweater.

There’s a chilled breeze that brushes by, a teeth clattering one that curled underneath Link’s exposed chin. It ripped a bodily shudder out of him, and it urges him to move a step ahead of his partner. The chill doesn’t subside though even as the breeze dwindles into silence. A chill that ebbs over his skin through the layers of autumn clothes. A cold that fuses onto his bones.

It’s when he adjusts his beanie that he realized that Pipit’s incoherent muttering has stopped, and the silence… it’s thick and threatening. A throb at the back of his mind, an itch at the back of his palms. There’s something that feels wrong, ominous. Something--

“I’ll be driving this time.” Link startles himself, his voice sounding painfully distant. The attempt to draw his mind away failing miserably as the throbbing consumes his thoughts.

_ Something _ .

“Maybe we should go get some more coffee. I feel like we’ll need it.”

_ Incredibly _ .

“And get a list of the drug CIs [criminal informant] in the area.”

_ Wrong _ . 

Each attempt to dissuade his paranoia is extinguished as his own voice sounds less and less to his ears. It forces him to a standstill, right before the cruiser, and once more he tries to speak  _ loud  _ and clear. Maybe he’s just speaking too softly? “Yeah, get a list of the drug CIs in the area. Maybe they’ll…” Link knows he’s speaking at a normal level, he must be because Pipit is at the passenger side door nodding his head. He even speaks, but whatever he says is pushed away into that stomach churning silence.

_ “It’s those eyes of yours.”  _ Link jumps at the voice as it resonates all around him, through him,  _ loud and clear _ .  _ “That heart of yours.”  _ It floods his senses until his thoughts are muddled, until the cold takes him hostage. Until the throb becomes a pull and he’s pulled into a direction that nearly made him trip. He spins around, eyes zeroing in on a spot across the street. 

It’s where eyes of blue fall into pools of large vermilion. It’s where he finds the old woman garbed in a ragged cape of gray and blue. The large cloth enveloped her, obscured everything but her wiry hands that clung to the cape’s hem and an ancient, weathered face. Her red eyes seem to glow the closer he’s pulled toward her, legs moving on their own accord.

_ “Even the soul. Marked from head-to-toe.”  _ The voice is crinkled leather, a crackling fire, a flash of fire against a flash of ice. Yet her lips aren’t moving. No, she’s only smiling as a nonexistent wind coaxes out wild strands of silver hair.  _ “A spitting image of something lost long ago, but you’re broken. Something missing. Something forgotten.” _

His legs freeze in the middle of the street, and it’s then that she stands up. Her movement is languid and the cape flows like silk from her decrepit frame. Silvery hair falls out as the cape slips away from her head, and her smile simmers.  _ “Give it time. Fate and fables. You’ll look better in greens than you do in blues. This simple life, it’s not meant for you. For a Hero-”  _ Link grimaced, a clawing burn edging its way up his back at such a simple word,  _ “like you.” _

Maybe the evidence bag had been opened, maybe he’d accidentally gotten some of the drug on him? Because  _ this _ whatever this was, it made no sense. Yet on the other hand, it made perfect sense. Nostalgic, something he felt that he knew but he couldn’t place it. 

_ “Give it time. The dreams are not just dreams. They never are for a Hero,”  _ that word again, it sparks a burn in his chest that he quickly places a hand to in an effort to silence it,  _ “such as you.” _

_ For a Hero such as you. _

Piercing agony, a drill through the head. It forces him forward on stumbling legs as both hands press against the burn that licks along his chest. An agony that eats away at his senses, contorting the woman before him as her eyes begin to not just blink, but to drip. He thinks its tears for a moment, but then he distantly registers that the tears are as red as her eyes. Yet as he blinks, fighting against the pain that burrows into him, the red flutters in and out. It’s there, dripping from her eyes in a fine line, and then it’s not. Each blink silencing and reviving what he hopes is a mirage, a drastic sign of lack of sleep. 

It must be because of the lack of sleep. Yes, because nothing else makes sense especially when the flesh around her face begins to slip away along with the vermilion tears. Flesh that melts, flesh that peels away to reveal the skull. A skull with a single eye socket that sinks into the abyss and a single, glowing eye of red.

Link staggers a step back, nearly tripping on his heels, and moves his hands up to cover his eyes. Because this  _ isn’t _ real.  _ It can’t be real.  _ But as his hands cut off his flickering gaze, he feels a cold wetness. Hears a wet squelch, and it startles him, urges him to pull his hands away to find bloodied palms. 

He needs to wake up.

_ Wake up, Hero. _

But his body acts on its own accord. He turns his hands despite their evident shaking, and there on the left hand is a symbol etched in black. It looks like a gruesome burn, infected skin boiling around it as it glows dimly. 

_ Wake up, Link. _

A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backward. The gesture pulls him back into reality, a whiplash of hallucinations vanished underneath the jarring movement and the rush of wind that greets him. A short semi-trailer plows through ahead of him, startling the still autumn wind and throwing him and his savior back onto the ground. 

His back connects with the ground, head smacking into something hard yet cushiony. “Shit!” The curse is instantaneous, and the pair of hands still at his shoulders shake him roughly, “What the hell was that, Link!” Pipit’s exclamation urges him up, jerking away from his partner’s grasp in the process. “Do you have a death wish or something? I called your name over a hundred times!”

Link barely hears him, just as he did before, as his gaze settles over the expanse of sidewalk across them. There is no woman garbed in a cape of blues and grays.

* * *

_ Recommendation: Sirens by Fleurie _

Black curtains whispered over porcelain skin. Venetian mask of obsidians and golds glistened underneath the soft glow of the afternoon sun. A mask of descriptive detail, folded around the eyes and curved about the shape of the nose in such a way that it appeared as a second layer of skin. It fanned out, obscuring the sides of the head and spiraling out at the back in sharp waves. A mimicry of the sun with long, dull blades of gold striking out around the covered crown. 

The wearer’s eyes are unseen, casted in shadows except for the occasional twinkle of sea-blue. Lips hidden away from the curtain of black that covers what the mask cannot. The fabric, layers of cashmere, cover up to the collar of a long, wavy blue dress. It’s the color of dawn, accented with gold swirls at the hems. It’s loose on its wearer, but the fabric is tight around the bosom, defining the wearer as a woman.

The masked woman stared at the aged book that rests before her, gloved hands caressed worn pages. A stack of books align the writing desk, all aged and weathered with time and past wars. Yet like the book before her, they are unseen as the voices that pile up against her continue to break through her thoughts. 

Premonitions that speak in ancient tongues, much older than the books. They’d once been helpful, but now they were nothing but a hindrance. Voices countering one another, clashing and struggling until their sound buzzes in white noise. It, along with her very existence, must be a curse. A sort of punishment that she was meant to undergo for the remainder of her life.

Yet these voices, for once in what felt like an eternity, had cleared. They dipped into one another, clinging onto each other until a single voice resounded in her mind. A heavy voice that left a hotness inside her, a feeling that she had not felt in years.

_ The Hero is awakening. _

It was a declaration that would have lit her up with hope. The goddesses had left them long ago. As did their Hero. But as time marched on, she’d begun to grow weary of hope. It’s intoxicated feeling had long since dried up, now as dry as the bones that rested within her. Even at this news, her brows furrowed. Perhaps she was willing her premonitions to speak, to bring forth something to hold onto, to look forward to. Because honestly, this life… this curse… she needed it to end.


	3. SOMBER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our "Hero" is starting to hallucinate much more than usual, and it's beginning to take a toll on him. At least he has Malon there for him. Yet even then...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have debated on changing this story's tense to present. I think I may have slipped up in a few parts where that shows... while this is going up, I am just now finishing chapter 5. With that being said, since COVID is coming to play, I might do a double-update on this. Especially since my uni closed its campus for the rest of the semester (stay safe everyone and be respectful and mindful!).
> 
> Here's hopin' this chapter leaves you wantin' more!
> 
> Thank you for the reviews and kudos <3

**THREE - SOMBER**

* * *

_ Recommendation: Quiet Resource by Eveyln Stein _

By the time the sun had set, Link and Pipit had given up on their investigation. No leads, no clues, no evidence… their search for witnesses, for an answer, had bottomed out. They’d come to the conclusion that Lara’s death, although incredibly suspicious, was nothing more than an overdose after their seventh attempt at gaining any ounce of information. 

It’s why they ended up parking the cruiser by one of Ordona’s smaller children’s parks for a breather. The dark park was much more inviting, much more relaxing than their small office, and after having nearly been run over by a truck, Link needed a moment to let the chilly night’s air settle his mind. 

Pipit sighed for the umpteenth time and folded his arms. His breath came out in puff of fog as he leaned against his cruiser. Link rounded the cruiser’s front bumper, two coffee cans in-hand. The drinks numbed his fingers more than the breeze that wrestled the night air. 

“Well, I guess that’s that, huh,” Pipit said. Link’s turn to sigh then. He joined his red-headed partner against the cruiser and proffered one of the drinks. “Ah, thanks. How much I owe you?” 

Link shook his head subtly, blond strands slipping from his black beanie’s grasp. For a moment, silence pervaded, but the longer it wedged itself between them, the more Link was reminded of that deafening silence he’d encountered in the office. A silence like that… and the old woman… he glued his eyes to the colorful can’s label,  _ Cuccoffee! _ , to anchor himself.  _ It’s just lack of sleep.  _ Even if it all did look, sound, and  _ feel  _ real. 

“I’ll write a report tomorrow morning.” Pipit plucked at the coffee can’s tab, but Link’s declaration had him pausing.

“Isn’t tomorrow your day off?”

“When we don’t have a case on our laps.”

“I can do the report. You need to take a break.” Cheeriness, the usual high note to Pipit’s tone, was absent which meant no arguing. Regardless, it urged a roll of the eyes from Link, but he stifled it by focusing his attention on the silver tab of the coffee can. It was when his partner had turned on his back until he was leaning against the cruiser with just a shoulder, his blue eyes boring a hole onto the side of Link’s head. Popping his own drink open, Pipit added with drawn solemnity, “especially considering what happened with you earlier today.”

Link met his gaze then. “I wasn’t--” his partner’s jaw hardened as if the retort angered him. If he had something to say, he swallowed along with the sip of his coffee. It didn’t discourage Link from arguing, far from it in fact. The nightmares had grown more vivid and only recently had they started bleeding into reality… if he took a day off work, the only place that forced him to work tirelessly and focus his mind on other things, then he’d surely go mad. “I don’t think--”

“Link, stop it!” Pipit’s shout startled Link, forced him to take a step away from the cruiser. It even riled up the wind, the dead leaves at their feet sliding away from his partner’s boots. “You need a day off. You haven’t taken one for months. Shit, you don’t even take holidays. It’s bad enough that you rarely sleep as it is and all you take is coffee.You’re going to work yourself to death! In fact, you almost did! What if that happens again, huh?”

It’s unlike Pipit to get worked up, to raise his voice or get angry. Sure, the man’s always been steadfast, but usually when it involved Link’s habits of not taking his days off, the matter never ended with a frustrated Pipit. Still, it deterred Link from pressing any further. Although it wasn’t from fear, no his partner wasn’t the least bit scary when angry, but more or less because the argument would definitely get them nowhere.

“All right, All right. I’ll,” a relenting sigh, “I’ll take tomorrow off.” The agreement didn’t ease the tension even when Pipit chugged the rest of his coffee and walked way to toss it in the trash can. It was then as Link settled his blue eyes back on the can’s metallic tab that his thoughts slithered back to the woman.

Usually his nightmares consisted of scenes from a battlefield, immeasurable loss and bloodshed. There had been a few corpses in those dreams that he’d later seen in real life from a drug overdose, suicide, or murder. Yet the other dreams that focused on the monstrous skeleton with the blade, always pointed at his throat, was never seen when he was awake. And the woman? He’d never dreamed of her. So was she… 

The vibration of his cellphone urged him to pull away from his wondering. It was welcomed with open arms because honestly, the more he focused on the dreams, the tired and more stressed he felt. Placing the can on the roof of the cruiser, Link fished out his cell. Malon’s name flashed on the screen for the briefest of moments as he accepted the call.

“Hey, Mal.” Her name, as always, sounded like music to him. Akin to a breath of fresh air. It made his worries, stress and exhaustion, not as heavy.

_ “Sorry to bother you, Link, but, um… my car won’t start again.” _

His feeling of ease was short lived. Thankfully it wasn’t because of the dreams. Her sedan seemed to have more trouble starting lately, and the more times it occurred, the more times Link felt financially strained. They couldn’t afford a new car, let alone an overhaul on the hunk of junk’s transmission. However, this made the sixth time this week.

“Okay, I’ll come pick you up in a few minutes.” 

The tension from moments before retracted drastically, much to Link’s relief. Whether it was because of Malon or the coffee finally kicking in, he didn’t dwell on it as he hung up. Pipit seemed to sense the weightlessness too as he returned, clutching a  _ second  _ can of coffee.  _ Ha, and he got after me for only downing coffee…  _

His partner plucked at the metal tab, once, twice, “was that Mal?” he spoke softly, apologetic.

“Car troubles again. Mind dropping me off at the office?”

“Only if you stay true to your word. You’re taking tomorrow off.” Pipit’s tone is back to what Link would describe as normal, and for once, he doesn’t try back talking to his friend.

“I said that I would, jeez.”

“No, you said ‘all right.’”

“Same thing.”

* * *

_ Song Recommendation: Wide Eyed by Billy Lockett _

The autumn rain blurs the street lights and the red traffic light overhead. It casts the cruiser in a blanket of red, drowns out all sound except for the fall of icy rain. It’s a welcoming sound. A deafening ambiance. Yet it does little to tame the phantom pains that lick their way up Link’s arms. His fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel, blue eyes staring a hole into the single, red traffic light. 

A glimmer of a burn brushes against his left hand, stirring his anxiety into a frenzy as his gaze drops to both hands. His fingers lace around the wheel tighter until his knuckles bleed white.  _ Dammit _ , he thinks,  _ I’m so pathetic.  _ “It’s just a dream.” 

Although he was thankful for the out that Malon’s request offered, having been freed from his overly worried and unnecessarily observant partner, he found that he wasn’t looking forward to the silent drive to the hospital. Mostly because of the woman, again. “Just a dream.” Honestly, he  _ needed  _ to stop focusing on it. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. So that was that. But shrugging it off was proving to not be so easy. 

_ Give it time. The dreams are not just dreams. _

Link shivered against the heat in his cruiser. Her words kept looping in his head as clear as day. He’d given up relying on loud music within the first few minutes of his drive to Valoo. Still, he kept on with his mantra as the light overhead finally switched to green.

“It’s just a dream.” Each syllable was spoken angrily as he shook each hand, hoping to wake the tingling nerves that misfired on the back of his hands. Of course, that only seemed to make the phantom pains burn more.

The drive was agonizing from then on. Each traffic light turned red right as he drove up to it, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake off the day’s events, let alone the past few nightmares that had plagued him. So when he finally pulled into the hospital, he nearly leaped out of the cruiser. He needed out of his car’s rain-filled silence, needed out of the cramped confinement, needed fresh air. Out, out, he  _ needed  _ to get out. Even if the rain was ice cold, instantly drenching him down to the bone, he stood outside his cruiser with the driver’s door wide open. 

Link stood there underneath the parking lot’s blazing lights, underneath the curtain of rain, until his nerves became numb. It’s when the ghosting burns stopped. Only then did he turn to slam the door shut before sloshing toward the front door. A rush of warmth as soon as the hospital’s doors slid open, it made him feel sick.

He sloshed across the expanse of the waiting room to the reception desk. The trail of water that followed after him earned him a stern look from the receptionist at the desk. She had stood up before he’d stopped at the counter, a sheepish smile forming on his lips. “Malon is just finishing up with a patient, she’ll be here soon.” A glance to the puddles behind him, “what did you do, take a shower out there?”

_ Something like that _ .

“Do you need a towel or--”

“No, it’s fine,” Link said, “thanks though.” She didn’t buy it as she lingered by the counter a moment longer. It made him incredibly self conscious, but as he averted his gaze down, he saw a fresh puddle at his boots. A breathless laugh, “well, maybe?” That seemed to do the trick. She finally left him, moving away from the counter to the maze of hallways that stretched behind the receptionist desk.

Link took the sudden solitude in stride. The waiting room was devoid of any patients. It left only the sound of rain outside and the low hum of the news channel by the front door to accompany him as he leaned against the counter’s cold surface. The smooth counter-top reminded him of the chilling raindrops he’d accumulated, and it forced a shiver down his spine as he quickly stepped away from the counter. 

Behind him, the double doors opened in an exhale and the torrential downpour overcame the hum of the coming week’s weather report. It urged Link to glance behind him curiously. A move that instantly flipped the world, the static of rain and news, into a thick, suffocating silence of monochromatic gray. The temperature that encased him plummeted, reanimating the shiver that had wracked his spine.

He’d never witnessed the man that waltzed in with the stride of a leopard ever in his life. No, he’d remember a man with skin as pale as death, eyes as dark as the shadows that encroached his restless nights, and clunky diamond-shaped earrings as large as his palm. He’d  _ definitely  _ remember someone like that. Especially the white hair, styled into a side sweep that hid the left eye, that clashed so violently with his off-white skin. The man wasn’t familiar in the least yet Link could have sworn he  _ knew  _ him as much as he knew Malon. Yet this misplaced nostalgia wasn’t as refreshing, relaxing and gentle as it was with Malon.  _ No _ , this was twisted. A macabre darkness that filled his lungs with icy air. A tingling pressure that put all his hairs on edge.

The man stopped just a few feet from the front entrance and met Link’s gaze. Unlike Link, the pale man was a head taller, leaner, and held a sour expression that only hardened the more they looked at one another. 

“Link!”

Both men looked away from each other to the short red head that bounded from the back halls. Malon rounded the receptionist desk with a beaming smile that quickly settled Link’s nerves as well as distracted him from the strange sensation of nostalgia. She was still in her scrubs, dark purple, and he took notice of her hair. She’d pinned it up into a messy bun, the only sign that she’d had a busy and exhausting day.

Before he could greet her, even move toward her, her vibrant eyes had gravitated toward the white haired man by the double doors. “Oh, Mr. Ghira, good to see you again!” He caught a small change in her smile, a brief wrinkle, but she hid it with a quick bow of her head. 

“You as well, my dear.” Link couldn’t stop the shiver that ricocheted angrily along his nerves. This time, it wasn’t from the cold. That voice  _ was definitely familiar _ . It sounded so clear, sparkling glass, and so musically inclined that it almost made him want to vomit.

Why?

_ Because it sounds wrong. _

His blue eyes slid back to the man only to find that he was nearly standing right between them. It forced Link to step back, yet another move that gained him undesired attention. “Oh, is this your dear--”  _ Skychild  _ “--Link, by chance?” The man, Mr. Ghira, asked with a toothy grin. A grin that Link felt should have showcased a pair of noticeable fangs.

She stopped beside Link then and nodded eagerly before placing a hand on his shoulder. The touch was comforting, something he hadn’t realized he’d needed, but as soon as she’d placed her hand there, she’d taken it away. “Yes, the one and only!” He watched as her smile returned with ample wattage. “My car was acting up so he came from work to pick me up, and-oh! Link, this is Mr. Ghira, he’s head of security for Valoo.”

Malon motion to the white haired man, and much to Link’s displeasure, he held out his own hand toward him as if to shake. “She refuses, but please, call me Ghirahim,” he supplied. His hand remained, hovering between them, and for an awkward moment Link hesitated. There was an urge to ignore this “Ghirahim,” a strong one, but that would be childish. That and he had definitely never seen the guy before so the feeling of nostalgia, it was surely misplaced.

“Nice to meet you, Ghirahim.” Link shook his hand, taking note on how cold the brief contact was, before he turned his attention back to Malon. A task that was unnaturally difficult with Valoo’s head of security staring at them. That is, until he set his eyes back on hers. As always, her smile eased the tension riding against his shoulders.The discomfort ebbed away. “Did you eat?”

The topic of food brought on a different smile. It was borderline shy, but Link knew better. She always claimed how she knew him like the back of her hand, but he knew her far more. She would tell him that yes, she had eaten, only so that they could go straight home and go to bed for his benefit. It was a common move of hers, to put him before her needs.

“I did, the girls and I ate an hour or so ago. We went to-” the telltale gurgle of her stomach said otherwise. Malon stopped abruptly, and the noise of her stomach lurched an octave higher before dimming back down into silence. 

“Hmm, you were saying?” He tilted his head, chuckling at the gradually blush that took to her cheeks. “Come on, it wouldn’t hurt to at least go to a drive through. There’s no sense in working long hours without eating. You’ll get sick if you continue like that.” Her blush darkened as he spoke, and it brought forth another chuckle. 

“All right… you have a point.” Malon’s shy smile withered defeatedly as she looked past him to Ghirahim. “We’re going to head out. Have a good night, Mr. Ghira. It was good to see you!” 

* * *

The drive home isn’t as silent as Link would have liked it to be. Granted, that’s probably for the best considering how out of it he had been on the drive to the hospital. That and apparently Malon had just seen the toxicology report for his case too earlier in the day. Just like Pipit and he, she was baffled. 

She was going on about her theories, half of which Link had listened to intently, but the burning sensation had returned. A tickling feeling that almost made him jerk at the steering wheel to stifle out the nonexistent fire that licked up his hands. It felt so real, the phantom pains, just like the hallucination that involved that woman…

“Link?”

He jerked the wheel that time, not from the sound of his name, but more or less from the hand that had suddenly took refuge on his lap. It startled him out of his trance effectively. A trance of which he hadn’t realized he’d been under until that moment.

At least the burning sensation was finally gone, for the moment.

“Are you all right? I thought you were listening, but I said your name… five times.” Malon said from the passenger seat. He doesn’t need to look over to see her worry, it’s loud and clear in her voice. “If you didn’t--I’m sorry, if you didn’t want me to talk about-”

He shakes his head earnestly as he brings the cruiser to a stop at another accursed traffic light. “No, you’re fine. I was listening, but I… sorry. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Your theories all sound promising, but I doubt they will help the case proceed any. I think this will just be signed off as an overdose.”

“But the results-”

“I know, I know. Pipit and I agree, it doesn’t add up.”

“Are you both going to give up on it then?”

“There are more cases that need our attention so probably. I’ll see if we can look into it again at a later date and, oh, that’s right. Will you be off tomorrow?” Link glanced over then. 

The red of the traffic light made her hair look as if it glowed. Her head turned toward her door window, most of her profile obscured by the flickering lights from his console and radio. At his lap, her hand tapped out an unknown rhythm against his leg. “No, same hours tomorrow,” a sigh, “Hey, can we stop by Zorby’s for food?”

He frowned. Days off were uncommon for him, and with all that had been going on he knew without a doubt that tomorrow would be nothing short of relaxing. However, if she was off too… well, obviously that wasn’t going to happen. So now he really would be stuck with his own thoughts tomorrow, no distraction or anchor in sight. Then again, maybe that’s for the best? She worries over him enough as it is… but still... “Oh…” the sound of his disappointment had her turning in her seat to peer up at him, “I am.”

“Shut up. You, really? You  _ never  _ take days off.”

“I know, and normally I wouldn’t but Pipit is kind of forcing me.”

“Really? Good!” 

She caught the roll of his eyes then and giggled. It was a melodic sound, and although he’d tried his best to hide it, he smiled.

The rest of the drive continued on with her endless chatter, not that Link was complaining. As soon as he’d turned into Zorby’s drive-thru she had begun to share with him the adventures of her day, most of which were actually repeats she’d mentioned before, but he never made a move to tell her that. Mostly because this, the time that they had together, was a rarity.

It was why, even as he parked the cruiser by the flat, they remained in the car. She ate her cuccoo sandwich and he finished off her fries as the conversation veered from left to right, up and down, spun, just like a roller coaster. Yes, they hadn’t shared a time like this where their conversation was riddled with irrelevant topics in a long while. 

“Oh, your birthday is coming up!” Malon sat up in her seat, her half-finished sandwich pressed close to her chest as she leaned toward him. Link must have made a face because her eagerness quickly changed course as she said, “and I wanted--oh don’t give me that face! I know how you are about birthdays, but I don’t care. I want to celebrate the day you were born because without it, you wouldn’t be here, with me.” Her voice fell an octave, a level of somberness squeezing itself between them as he looked away uncomfortably. Her statement was endearing, yes, but the level of affection, as it often did, caught him off guard. Honestly, how did one react to that?

“Anyways, I want to know what you wanted for your birthday.”

_ Some killer sleeping pills.  _ “I will love anything that’s from you, you know that.”

“Don’t feed me that! Come on, name it.”

He shook his head and turned partly toward the door. It was then that she lurched over, sandwich still in hand, and bumped his shoulder with her forehead. It didn’t stop him from unlocking the front doors, but it did make him reconsider in opening the driver’s door for an escape. 

“Ple _ eee _ ase.” Malon whined. The sound of it was unfitting. It didn’t compliment her in the slightest, but like with Pipit earlier, he realized that he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with this. She’d only press him further and then get angry.

“All right, all right.” The pressure of her forehead against his shoulder pulled away, and he continued, “what about…” but he really didn’t know. There wasn’t anything he really needed let alone wanted. So what else could… “what about a song?”

“W-What?” Her squeak made him laugh, and he turned back in his seat to face her, grinning widely. 

“A song. You used to sing for me a lot before I went to the Academy. I’ve missed it.” He watched, grin ever present, as she morphed from excitement to hesitance in a second. “Come on, your voice is beautiful, Mal. You’ve sung for me a number of times, and each time I can’t help but fall for you all over again.” Her gaze left his then, seeming to feel how he’d felt at her affectionate statement over his birth. It was to be expected though because coming from her, it was relatively normal, but from him? It wasn’t as common. Especially at the hint of interest. They’d been together long enough to where the adage of “I love you” should have been spoken, but they had yet to even consider it aloud. No, they merely hinted at it, hedged over the strong endearment. It was too heavy, even this far into their relationship, to openly admit. 

“Okay, I-for you-I’ll do it.”

“I look forward to it.” It was the last thing he said before he turned the ignition off and opened the door. An instant wave of autumn air flooded the otherwise toasty cruiser, effectively chasing both of them out and into the warmth of their apartment.

Malon ended up tossing her unfinished sandwich in the trash before announcing that she’d be taking a shower which meant Link would have to wait at least an hour in hopes to use the hot water again. That was fine though because by that time she’d be asleep, and he could take a long shower without her growing concerned. It didn’t end up like that though as he sat down on the couch, and switched the television to some random news channel. He’d only half-listened to it, his thoughts elsewhere as they often were, and by the time Malon had emerged from the bathroom clad in nothing but a plush, purple towel, he had fallen asleep.

She tiptoed toward him, gently urging him to lie down on the couch rather than having his head loll on the side of the armrest. Then she reached for the blanket on top of the couch and quietly covered him. He’d barely even roused as she turned to face the tv. On any other night she would’ve turned it off, save on their electric bill, but with a glance back down on the couch, she decided not to. The background noise would likely help him in sleeping, give him something to subconsciously latch onto. At least, that’s what she hoped for because even now as he slept, the dark circles under his eyes and the hollowness in his cheeks were painfully evident. Even in the chance of sleep, he still seemed tense, distant.

Malon’s frown simmered as she crouched down beside the couch, her face nearly inches from Link’s own face. “Please, rest well, my hero.” She mused silently before gracing his forehead with the softest of kisses. 

**_My… hero..._ **

* * *

The lacerations that riddled his flesh were barbed wire tangled around a tree. They pulled at him, cut deep with every breath as the hilt of the magnificent blade slipped between bloodied fingers. A single cough pushed him down to his knees as the world around him swam like the storming seas beyond the castle walls. He faintly heard his name shouted somewhere across the fog of his mind before his hands fell to the floor alongside his knees.

_ This can’t be happening, not now.  _ He coughed once again, his body shuddering violently as he desperately tried to raise his head.  _ I need-I need to get up.  _ Yet no amount of desperation could grant him the strength to stand. 

_ “Why, I thought you’d be more of a challenge, for a Hero such as yourself.” _

Unlike the distant voice that repeated his name, he heard the voice of death loud and clear. He felt the cool touch of a blade pressed up against his chin. It forced him to raise his head and meet eyes that were like molten pools of lava.

_ “No matter. I suppose it was fun while it lasted.”  _

He grit his teeth against the foul taste of blood as the coldness of the blade slid away from his neck. Without its support, his head lowered, and he grunted against the strain. There was definite pain that had wrapped tightly around him, but as he watched the shadow of the blade rise above him, nothing could be compared to the burn that consumed his left hand. It overrode the barbed wire that clung close to him, and filled him with an intense heat that made the tattered clothes on his back almost unbearable to keep on. His gaze slithered to the mark then, a single triangle formed by three smaller triangles, and it seemed to glow brighter at his attention. It was then, as he recognized the burn within him being the collection of power, that he heard and recognized the siren that had been speaking his name across the haze of his mind. 

How could he have forgotten her voice? The voice that had, at one time, taken refuge in his dreams. That voice that had been with him, supported him, throughout his journey. She’d sought out his aid for what felt like a millennia ago when it had only been a few weeks at most. Yet he  _ knew  _ her. Even though he’d never seen her true face in his dreams or even when awake, not until today. 

Even though he’d only caught a glimpse of her through her crystal prison, she had the exact appearance that he’d imagined her to have. Tall, fair, and blessed with a halo of hair that had been colored by the gaze of the sun. Her eyes had shone blue even through the purple pillar of crystal, and even through the risk of today being her last, she smiled upon seeing him.

So hopeful… so supportive… he’d lost everything,  _ everyone _ , but she’d been there with him, for him. Every step of the way. 

_ I won’t. _

There was a grating sound, a scream, and he lurched upward with his blade in-hand. It struck his opponent’s own sword, and the mark upon his hand burned even further. A silent encouragement, and he pushed forward. He stood up from off the floor. Ignored the blood that coated his tongue, and he screamed as he forced the vile epitome of darkness, a man who had caused him so much pain, back.

_ I won’t lose you too. _

“I’ll kill you!” He screamed louder than the thunder that blanketed the castle, louder than the ear piercing rake of metal on metal.

_ I won’t let you die, Zelda. _

His body shivered against the agony as he swung his word once more, but the blade met nothing but air. The unexpected lack of flesh or blade connecting with his own sword had him stumbling forward. His scraped boots should have shuffled against the stone of the throne room yet the ground beneath him was gone, clad in darkness. In fact, the castle was nowhere in sight. He looked up, ignored the intense burn in his hand, only to meet darkness head on. It was a shock. So much so that the sword within his grasp fell once again from his grip. The adrenaline fell with it, clattered soundlessly to the darkness below. 

Without the caress of adrenaline, his body convulsed, and the pain pushed him back down. Hands pushed desperately against the wounds at his stomach, in his chest, anywhere that blood fell freely. Yet as soon as his hand rested against the bright red, did the jagged flesh vanish. The pain was slower to disperse, but all that was left was the thick coating of blood on his skin. It startled him, confused him, and he frantically lifted his shirt in search of any proof of the sword fight he’d just participated in. 

_ What in Hyrule? _

There were no wounds in sight. Nothing but unmarred skin and blood with no source. The only mark he’d took note of was the triangular symbol upon his hand. It was different in the darkness, appeared white instead of black, and at first he’d looked over it. The glow had barely been noticeable, but as his gaze passed over it, it flashed a brilliant white light and drew his eyes in like a moth to the flame. 

The burn before had been bearable, but this? This was what he’d imagined the sun to feel like. A pain so deep, so rich and foul, it coiled around him, in him. It pressed up against him, out of him, until all he could feel was that sensation of burning. An unbearable heat, his skin boiling from the inside, out, and before he could muster out a howl of agony, it…

He gasped, his panting loud within the dark place, and grabbed at his offending left hand to see…gone. Everything, gone. Just like the castle, his opponent, the wounds, so was the mark of the gods, gone. He stared, dumbfounded, at the back of his left hand, thoughts fragmented as he tried to make sense of what had just happened when a name came to him.

_ Zelda. _

He stood up, the confusion over the absence of his birthmark having been quickly overtaken by that single name. Right. Zelda, he was here— wherever that may be— for Zelda.

Yet all that greeted him as he turned around endlessly in search of something, anything, was darkness. Darkness, accompanied by a voice. A voice that sounded familiar yet distant. Had it been speaking all along? He couldn’t remember, but no, that wasn’t important. What  _ was  _ important was…

What was so important?

_ “Hey Link, do you ever wish for a different destiny?” _

What was so…

_ “Do you think that one day, this cycle will end?” _

What was…

_ “I hope it does, for your sake. I-I’ve seen you die, so many times, during each life. I don’t want to see it happen again. Link I—” _

**We needed you, but you never came. Where were you when we needed you most?**

He stopped turning, searching for whatever it was he’d been searching for, as a new voice usurped the other. This one sounded loud and clear. It bore emotion, it resounded with hate. So much hate.

The voice was behind him then, he was sure of it. He turned then to face it, but as he turned, he was met with the sight of a mangled carcass. The body’s skin was whiter than snow, partially obscured by long, obscene claw marks made by its own nails. Claw marks that had been accompanied by a dreadfully familiar looking black ichor. It was the sight of the black ichor, the sickening sense of nostalgia, that compelled him to move forward, to meet the unseeing eyes of death. Eyes of which had glazed over, frozen in a state of undeniable fear. 

Yet despite the clear signs of the body’s death, from the smell down to the decomposition that settled in on its flesh, the lips moved. “Wake up, Link.”


	4. FEAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we learn how not to infiltrate a company, among other things...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stories written in present tense always feel odd to me so that likely won't be a change made to PM. I may still do a double-update one of these months, we shall see.
> 
> Here's hopin' this chapter leaves you wantin' more!
> 
> Thank you for the reviews and kudos <3

**FOUR- FEAR**

_Recommendation: We Have It All by Pim Stones_

Lon Lon Industries, the empire of pharmaceutical medicine in the country of Hyrule. The one and only medical industry to successfully take over Hyrule by storm since the late 80's. It was likely one of the oldest, most outstanding companies founded in the Lanayru prefecture. Many a Hyrulean had said it was because of its foundation, made up of a wealthy, influential family with a knack for progression and philanthropy. A company that strived to help the world with advancement in never before seen medicine and equipment. Their mission statement: that no Hyrulian would die before their natural time _._ Yet Lanayru Spotlight's journalist, Revali Rito, knew better.

The popular medical industry, along with its show of philanthropy, was just a front for the renowned Dragmire family's business. At least, that's what he'd tried to get his boss back at the news station to understand. But like his boss said, you couldn't have news without the proper seasoning-hardcore facts-to draw in the audience. His past few scoops hadn't been even close to interesting. In fact, they'd probably helped in lowering the station's viewer ratings, but this one, this one was going to be the one that got him noticed as well as put the station back on the map. Hell, maybe even promoted... if he played his cards right.

At least that's what he kept telling himself as he got closer and closer to the obsidian tower near the heart of Lanayru's prefecture. The skyscraper was the tallest building in Lanayru, a behemoth that cast neighboring buildings in its shadow. He'd lingered across the street, absently pulling on the edges of his blue knit scarf as he peered up onto the large sign, accented with red lights.

_**Lon Lon Industries**_ , accompanied by smaller letters bathed in a dimmer hue of red, _**Where futures are made**_. The motto always sounded tacky to him, but now as he stared at the sign in person as it flickered and bathed the street ahead in an eerie glow of crimson, it sounded too picturesque. Way too forced, like the company was trying too hard to keep up with their fake smiles and empty promises.

The pedestrian light buzzed, adding a shimmer of white to the red overlay, and he hurriedly crossed the street. His camera bag bounced against his hip, partially hidden underneath his long coat, until he was standing on the sidewalk right before the tower's glass facade. His reflection glared back at him, accented by the imposing sign overhead. It made the tips of his wavy black hair appear as if they were glowing a sickeningly dark violet. Again, he craned his neck to give the sign above one last look before adjusting his scarf and heading for the large, revolving doors.

Lon Lon Industries had its name on a number of hospitals and doctors' offices across the country, but none of them could compare to the size of Lon Lon's official building. The lobby was massive, a spacious room adorned with a sleek, modern touch. Solid blacks, warm reds and blues, and crisp grays washed the lobby in an air of formality, complimenting the large, rounded water fountain at the center with the dark contrasts. Like with the sign, Revali had to crane his neck to see the other floors that ringed the lobby. Each floor that was visible went only half as high as the building itself, while the glass elevators that sought refuge on either side of the building disappeared behind a slab of wall after what Revali had counted to be the thirty-second floor.

The elevators as well as the stairwells that neighbor them, five each, were blocked off by a short line of turnstiles. Turnstiles of which were on constant watch from the cameras scattered about the lobby as well as the glass cubicles on either side, both of which housed a handful of what looked to be armed guards.

Revali breathed in, tasting the hint of antiseptic, before he breathed out any reconsideration to his wild scheme. Sure, he'd never pulled something as big as this off before, but he'd chalk it off to the day when he broke into one of Lanayru's notorious commissioner buildings. That in itself had been a feat at the time, just to get his hands on a key card, but the security there had been a cake walk, key card or not. Well, and it hadn't been extremely life threatening as this venture would be.

Corrupted politicians who took bribes were one thing, but a potential underground drug ring? He took in another long breath, holding it in for a few seconds, and let it out as he reached for the plastic card in one of his coat pockets. The key card was cold to the touch, but it helped in grounding him as he walked up to the turnstiles with as much confidence as he could muster. Especially with the way he probably looked, dressed in a large scarf and a baggy long coat with one side of his body likely looking a little too chunky thanks to the camera bag.

It's why he tried to nonchalantly angle his body, re-situating the camera bag to the front of his chest with each step. Thankfully it didn't seem to matter though. The guards that inhabited the glass cubicles weren't paying him any attention as his boots edged up to the turnstiles' threshold. With a single swipe of the key card, a light on the turnstile in front of him flashed green and sounded off with a subtle click. He pushed against it and with a fire in his step, crossed the slip of glossy, gray linoleum, to one of the glass elevators that aligned the walls.

There was a forming line of Lon Lon's employees already at the foot of the elevator, but as soon as Revali had crossed the lobby to them, one of the elevator doors had opened. The line flooded in, fifty or so employees clad in thick sweaters and three piece suits, and he went along with them just before the glass doors slid closed.

Never in his life had he felt so out of place until this very moment, crammed into a small elevator with a bunch of suits and sweaters that looked like they'd cost two of his paychecks. Yet no one gave him any mind. A blessing, but he didn't want to take any chances. Revali pressed himself up against one of the glass walls in an attempt to make himself as small as possible or one with the surroundings. Whether it helped his chances was beyond him as soon as the elevator reached the second floor. The doors slid open, and he fell backward with a surprised yelp. Fifty pairs of eyes turned on him then. It wasn't every day they saw someone literally fall out of the elevator, that and the yelp had been jarring in such a small space. Of course, Revali didn't see it like that. No, his thoughts fell into a cesspool of paranoia as he quickly righted himself and hightailed it to the _next_ elevator just as soon as the one he'd been in closed.

He wasn't in favor of the gods though as a third of the people on the elevator filed out just before the glass doors brushed close. Most of them went their separate ways while others strayed by the elevators, except for one bespectacled man who had closed in on him as soon as he'd reached for the next elevator's call button.

"You okay, sir?"

Revali jumped at the sudden attention, "Y-Yeah," a shaky laugh, "never better. Just-trying to get around, I'm-uh-"

"Oh, first day?"

"Yeah! I mean, well… yeah." He wanted to smack himself with the way he likely sounded, riddled with uncertainty and unnecessary hesitancy.

"What department are you in?"

He met the man's bespectacled gaze for a moment. The question caught him for a loop, but then he remembered the key card. If his usual go-to forger had been right, then all key cards from Lon Lon had the RFID chip as well as the department names and identification numbers on them. _He better be right, charged me double for the stupid thing_. "Here?" He dangled the key card between them.

The man, a head shorter than he with a head of raven colored hair that reeked of pomade even at arms length, stared at it for the breadth of a moment. His wire-framed glasses were readjusted with a quiet, habitual gesture before he returned Revali's gaze. "IT. You're a mountain away from the office, Mr. IT. Your department is on the forty-first floor."

Revali smiled sheepishly, "Really? I could've sworn they'd—"

"Not to worry, here if you," said the bespectacled man as he reached for the adjacent elevator's call button, "just go up to the forty-first floor then it'll be the fifth door on the right. It'll be the one with 'IT' written above the door so you can't miss it."

They parted with a nod, and before the man could conjure up any other questions or small talk, Revali legged it to the next elevator that opened its doors. From there he followed the man's instructions because honestly, he wasn't sure where to start his investigative journalism. A bad move on his part, but IT sounded promising. Maybe from there he could figure out where to go next?

* * *

The backdrop was engulfed in Lanayru's cityscape, and it stretched as far as the horizon. Its glow and bustle of activity basked the office in hues of gray. An unsettling accent that contrasted blindly with the cases' bulbs containing artifacts that took refuge in small spaces against the walls. Of course, nothing could ever compare to the individual that sat at the black toned desk. The cityscape spread out behind him like a cape, and its light painted him in a silhouette. His presence alone was unsettling, but the image he portrayed, whether it be because of his position, his history, or the symbolic likeness to his desk being that of a throne, placed atop Lon Lon Industries, was even more so.

However, Ghirahim had seen it all before and he'd come into the office, to alleyways, and warehouses alongside the intimidating man before him too many times to count. He didn't quite feel as unsettled as his companion did. Unless the shifty eyes and fidgeting was some wild act at an attempt for sympathy.

"I want Amanda's evaluation on the science wing's discovery of _Pitch_ by tomorrow." Ghirahim's eyes flickered to the man that stood at the desk, hands folded neatly atop one another over the lid of the docked laptop. "No more excuses, no more delays." The tone was solid, formal, and it held enough power to move mountains. Ghirahim had to shake his head to rid himself of his worship as the man beside him nodded adamantly, his voice coming forth in a tremble,

"Yes, we'll try-"

"Don't try, just _do it_." Their boss lowered his chin, the action seeming to add a bestial intensity to the man's molten gaze.

"Yes-yes, Mr. Dragmire, sir." The nervous man sputtered, and Ghirahim had to hold back a devilish smirk of humor. Another adamant nod, and their boss flicked his eyes to the door behind them. Ghirahim's companion took to the dismissal eagerly and left no room for any addendums to his order as he all but ran out of the office.

Only at the close of the door did the second employee let loose his laughter. A melodic sound that, as usual, prompted a grin to split across his boss's face. "No matter how many times I hear it, I will never get tired of hearing that, 'Mr. Dragmire, sir.'" He accented the phrasing with his hands, waving them before his face.

The large man, the epitome of strength and power, nodded. Despite the smile that had blossomed across his face, an unsettling sight against the pair of molten amber eyes, he did not share in his employee's laughter. "Yes, it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He settled his hands over the desk and let his grin simmer down into a scowl. The change in expression did little to deter the white-haired man's smile. Granted, most things only heightened his bodyguard's glee. "Now, it's your turn to enlighten me, Ghirahim. What news have you from the hospitals in the Faron and Termina provinces?"

Always straight to the point, always business. _How un-fun._ The lanky man pushed his lip out in a mock pout, but brought his right hand up to examine his fingernails as he recited his current findings,

"Nabooru, in Termina, is lacking the funds to update their equipment. A claim that I find rather amusing considering the fact that you slipped them a good sum of money in the beginning of the year. I believe they think you favor them, to such a degree that they are becoming a bit too bold for their own good. Valoo, on the other hand, used your financial aid to hire more staff and offer more educational opportunities for their employees. Your investment was definitely a philanthropic one, hmm? I can get Vaati and Milly to contact the news channels about it, if you're up for that much exposure right now."

"The head of Nabooru has been a thorn in my side as of late… interesting how he thinks his ship will be able to sail freely across _my_ waters. See to it that it sinks, sail cloth and all. As for the news, don't bother. Financial aid to the hospitals that partner with Lon Lon is nothing new. What about the death?"

Ghirahim's smile evolved even further, flashing his teeth, "a sad one, wasn't it? It's rumored that she overdosed from a new opioid, one that contained remnants of a drug found in Krokodil. I'm sure we'll see another, similar, case about it soon." His words were spoken carefully, a light brush over the true answer.

Runa Lara had been found, and Lon Lon Industries was never once mentioned or thought of during the investigation. An investigation of which had been closed as soon as the police labelled it as an overdose. "I wonder who could be her dealer?" He added innocently, tilting his head as his eyes nearly glowed at the insinuation.

"Which police department oversaw sought the investigation?"

"Faron City Police. Thinking it could be a corrupted copper? Now wouldn't that be fun?" To anyone else, Ghirahim's excitement would have come across as appalling, but it only introduced another one of his boss's grins.

"Anything is possible." The boss of Lon Lon Industries rolled his shoulders, "people will need some closure, eventually," he added.

Ghirahim nodded, and if he'd anything to add, it was swallowed by Dragmire's next words.

"I want results." The rate at which his boss switched moods seemed to be the only thing to sober him up. His smile from before crumbled, overtaken by an eerie seriousness. "This, _this hell_ , has gone on long enough. Time's been wasted for far too long. If we don't get results within the next few days, it'll be you at the other end of the gun."

"I love it when you get all threatening, but how can we get the results that you seek? We can't just post 'help wanted' signs all over the place, and if too many from the street end up dead by a mysterious and deadly opioid… well, it won't end well. Sure, overdoses are a frequent problem, but this particular opioid isn't your average drug. Someone is bound to catch on and suspect it's more than just a little back alley drug."

His words, although true, were clearly not what his boss had wanted to hear. At least, if the look of death burning in his eyes had anything to say. "Test my patience, and I'll do more than just pull the trigger on your worthless head. Just get it done."

Such menace, but death glares and threats never went far with Ghirahim though. He'd been with the man, Ganon, for far too long now. The threats were certainly laced with promise, but as always, there was a fine line of understanding between them. There wasn't a need to threaten Ghirahim because the man would do whatever Ganon asked of him, without question. It's why he only grinned in return, why he bowed his head in silence, and turned on his heel to take his leave.

Only when the office's door closed at his back did he finally let loose a self-restrained giggle. Especially when he thought how it would have been delicious to have departed with a, "yes, Mr. Dragmire, sir." That likely would have only riled the man up even further, and although such a thing was indeed a wondrous past-time, it often ended up as a bore. The man was definitely the epitome of power, both good and bad, but he got riled up _so easily_ that it often grew boring to default to teasing antics.

He'd only pulled away from the door, dress shoes clicking on the linoleum floors, when the obnoxious ring of his cellphone rattled throughout the short hall. There was a sigh and then he was pulling the cell phone from an inner pocket of his suit. A piece of clothing that he would honestly kill to get out of, but the boss had designated it to be his work attire. Apparently three piece suits screamed formal intimidation these days.

"Ghirahim." There was an edge to his voice, something that the caller on the other end quickly caught onto if their bit of responding silence had anything to say about it.

He stopped by the edge of the L-shaped corridor where it turned into the single, glass elevator. It was then that the speaker finally said, " _we appear to have a rat in our midst."_ The words shouldn't have elicited an exciting shudder up his spine, but it did. Sure, a nosy little rat meant a potential risk for the company's underground business, but… it wasn't every day when he got a call that promised some fun. Nevertheless, they'd had false alarms before, many of which ended him up on the bad side of Dragmire.

"How are you so sure? And have you told _him_?"

" _You instructed that all intrusions be reported to you before anyone else, even before the boss, chief."_ True. He was Lon Lon's Chief of Security after all. A fitting title, even though it was a little far-fetched to the business that he actually did. " _It took a little longer than it should've, the systems triggered after the intrusion, but the intruder's badge depicts information from a non-existing employee. A Joshua Farris in the Information Technologies department, such a person doesn't exist in the employee database since 2012."_

This definitely wouldn't be the first time when the systems fired an alert because of someone with what they believed was a fancy and successfully forged identification card. Why have a turnstile at the front doors letting people in just by using a simple RFID chip? Who, in their right mind, wouldn't run the data programmed onto the card itself against existing information? Still, it always did make it all that more exciting because that meant he'd have his hands full with both the intruder and their forger. If there were two entities at play that is.

"Do we know where they are?" He'd made it to the elevator then, catching his own grin in the reflective glass before him. The speaker passed along the information, their little rat having last been spotted waltzing into IT's office. Of all the places to check out first, going to IT's hole-in-the-wall was a bit of a stretch. Surely this intruder wasn't here to just check the facility's server specs… "I'll pay them a visit. No need to report this to Dragmire, he has a lot on his plate as is. That and I don't think his blood pressure right now can handle such trifling news." There was a grunt of acknowledgement before the line went dead.

* * *

Lon Lon Industries was definitely a big company, but Revali did not expect the company to be backed by such a small IT office. The office was small, much smaller than he would've imagined, and it was inhabited by only four cubicles that were right up against each other. Cubicles of which were partly hidden by a wall of dilapidated towers, clunky monitors, and boxes. There was a single server rack shoved in the corner, but it looked to only be giving shelter to a single server and a sideways tower. Accompanied by a tall fern that looked like it hadn't seen sunlight in days. Unsurprising since he didn't see any signs of windows on the walls, just posters reminding workers about the penalties of sexual harassment, stealing, and how "lose lips sink ships."

He passed the threshold and was immediately greeted with the thick smell of coffee and a rush of bone-chilling cold. It was more than just an absent action to pull at his scarf then as the four heads glued to their monitors all turned in unison to eye him. A beat of silence, followed by a faint whir from the server in the back corner, was the next greeting Revali received as he quickly chewed on just what on Hyrule he was going to say.

Maybe he should have planned this better? Yes, but here he was. No way he was just going to call it quits here and bounce with his tail between his legs. _So far so good, just take a breath, and act like you own your shit_.

"If you're here for a laptop then you're S.O.L., bud. You should'a come fifteen minutes ago." A long ginger-haired man in the cubicle farthest from him said in the most monotonous tone Revali had ever been privy to.

"O-Oh…" _real smooth._

"We ordered about fifty more. They'll be here in the next few days so just watch out for an email." Instructed another, a black-haired woman with a nasally voice. She'd actually risen from her seat, the desk chair squealing as she pushed it back, and met him with vibrant, violet eyes. "Unless you're here for a cell phone then you're in luck. It wouldn't kill you to actually use our calendar though, y'know. Yuga worked hard on that widget, it helps keep us all on track." The half-wall and the small tower of computer hardware weren't tall enough to hide the black haired woman's thin waist or the hands that she drew to rest on pointed hips.

"I _did_ work hard on that, didn't I? So much so that I'd say it's my best work yet, maybe even close to being perfect." The ginger from moments before piped up again as he too rose from his desk chair. It didn't make quite as much noise as the woman's as it rolled back. "So yeah, if you're here for a cell phone I'll not hesitate to knock you into next week." Revali watched as the gingered man moved away from the desks, toward him. It was only when the man stood before him that Revali took note to the man's height. That and the red hair was longer than he'd originally thought, having reached the middle of the man's back. "So what can we help you with?"

He took another look around the room before he met the man's-Yuga's-gaze. Honestly, the IT office was far from the place he needed to be. It was clear that he wouldn't get any good information here, especially since they only presented one server. Then again, even if the office walls were aligned with servers upon servers, it would do him no good. He wasn't a whiz on computers so hacking was completely out of the question. So then that left him with his only option…

"Sorry, I _was_ here in hopes to get my hands on a laptop. I was told to come up here for one, but I'll make sure to use the calendar widget next time." He waved a hand sheepishly and quickly turned toward the exit.

But then, "what's your name then? I'll put it down on our list otherwise, if you forget again, it may be a while till you can actually grab a new laptop."

Would it be too weird if he pulled out his badge again? Yes, yes it would. "Revali Rito." That was just as bad, giving his real name, but by the sound of it, his name would be lost amidst all the other employee names.

"Which department?"

Now he definitely couldn't say IT. They would surely find that odd, wouldn't they? Especially when there was no vacant cubicle, let alone room for a fifth desk or even a television tray. Medical then? "I'm in-"

"Ah, _there you are_ , Mr. Rito." Revali spun back to the door, the way the newcomer spoke sent unpleasant chills down his back. Yet nothing compared to the fear that pooled in his gut when he locked eyes with two pits that could only be described as an endless abyss.

The man that stood just before the office threshold had his shoulder against the door frame, a twisted grin curled about snowy lips. An expression that must have been fresh if the slight twinkle of the large, dangling diamond-shaped earrings had anything to say about it. His eyes were a bloodcurdling contrast to the white of his skin, even his hair, and it's all Revali could find himself focusing on as the newcomer continued talking. "He's in the security department."

"Oh, hello Mr. Ghira. Why didn't you say so sooner, Revali? Security, along with the med teams, get first dibs on laptops and phones. Weird though, you should have gotten one reserved then unless-"

"He's relatively new, hired just last month."

Revali felt the grip of death along his skin, a coldness that made the weight of this newcomer's words all the more alarming. The cover was complete goat shit, and they _both_ knew it.

_I need to get out of here._

His thoughts must have betrayed him, painted his sudden urge to flee all over his face with flashing neon lights, because the ghostly man straightened away from the door frame and crossed the threshold. There was no opening as the distance between them was cut within the breadth of a second. Within the blink of an eye, or so it felt to him, the newcomer's hand latched onto his shoulder and pulled him forward.

Revali found himself turned around, both shoulders anchored down by deathly white hands. He was propelled to face Yuga and the rest of the IT office again. "But not to worry, he was issued last year's back up laptop just last week. He'll _live_ another week or so without one." The grip on his shoulders tightened with each passing word. It forced an involuntary flinch from him, but Yuga had already turned back to the cubicles, missing it as well as the very expressive fear that surely coated his features. "Sorry about all that, I should've had him check out that widget of yours. Now, if you'll excuse us, I'll need to take him back and see if his duty belt came in finally."

"No worries. Thanks for visiting." Replied the black haired woman as she too turned her attention away, completely missing Revali's evolving panic as their chief of security hauled him out the door.

His sneakers caught onto the lip of the threshold, but Ghirahim only added more pressure and pulled him into the hall. There wasn't a moment of reprieve as he was propelled through the hall and shoved promptly into the stairwell adjacent to the line of elevators. Unlike the elevators themselves, the stairwell was even smaller, so when he was shoved inside he smacked into the wall across the door.

The sound of the stairwell door closing was deafening. So much so that it urged him to _move_ and get the hell out of there. Yet when he turned, aiming for either the stairs or the door, the white-skinned man was a step ahead of him.

A reverberating crack of the back of his skull meeting concrete was the only warning he got before a hand pushed right up against his collar bone. The grip wasn't necessarily constraining, but the amount of pressure was something that he recognized as a warning. An amount of which he'd initially never expected to come from the deathly pale man. Sure, he looked average in size, but the force that pushed against his chest didn't add up to the man before him of which lacked the proper musculature.

His eyes sunk into pits of bubbling coal and a wintry twist of iced lips. "Humor me, hm? What are you hoping to achieve by sneaking in here? Trade secrets, gossip, blackmail?" Like in the IT office, with each passing word Revali felt the hand at his chest push against him even more. Fraction by fraction until it became hard to breathe comfortably let alone easily. "And which is your real name, Revali Rito or Joshua Farris?"

The weight against his chest didn't ease up. Even when his hands scrambled to wrap around a thin wrist, the pressure didn't ease in the slightest. It only increased the burning fear in his gut and made that grin that kept growing on the man's face all the more fearsome.

Should he… tell the truth? No, that would be risky. If the rumors were true, which he suspected they were because what kind of greeting was this, then it was definitely the riskiest option. But then, what other options did he have?

"I'm waiting." The cheeriness in his offender's tone was worrisome, just as the increasing pressure against his collarbone was.

_Lie. You should lie. Surely nothing will happen._ Besides, if something were to happen, his boss knew where he was. That and so did the other journalists. "Joshua Farris. I-"

"Then why did you pass Revali Rito as your name?"

"It was a pre-"

"Precaution. Hm, I suppose that makes sense. After all, your ID's department would've been a dead giveaway to your little antics. We have no need for new hires in IT. Now," his wild grin simmered into a thin line, "what are you hoping to achieve by sneaking in here?"

_Think. Think. Think._ "I just wanted to get an inside look of Lon Lon."

"We have tours for that, dear Joshua."

"R-right, but I wanted to see the areas that the tour doesn't…" the shadows that fell across Ghirahim's face had the hairs on the back of Revali's neck stand on end.

"I can show you those places, if you'd like." The pressure was relinquished, but the eerie look that had taken its place on the man's features hadn't subsided. "All you had to do was ask."

Revali couldn't help but rub at the place where Ghirahim had pressed against him. That part of his chest was tender and burning, but nothing was quite as painful or attention catching as the fear that kept piling up within him. "No, no, that's all right. I realize I should've-instead of doing this-I should've just requested it. I can leave. I'll just-" but the offending man didn't move. If anything, he came right up to Revali until they were but a mere inch or two apart.

"Lon Lon Industries is known for its philanthropy and hospitality. I can't possibly let you go after having treated you so roughly. My apologies. Now come, let's take a tour of where curious minds such as yours are not allowed."

"No, honest, it's all right. I'll just leave. Come back another day." Revali pushed against Ghirahim's shoulders, but the man was akin to a brick wall. Immovable, intimidating, a damn dead end.

"Surely a journalist such as yourself would die for such a chance, such a scoop?"

_He's fishing._ But Revali didn't have to answer. No, his damn face answered for him, if he had anything to go by the brief pass of acknowledgement on Ghirahim's face.

* * *

In Malon's opinion, the small apartment's bathroom had just about the same amount of space as a hand basket. Old, faded green, painted the four walls, neither complimenting nor conflicting with the white porcelain sink directly across from the off-white toilet. A sink of which was only a step away from the toilet. Then there was the shower, a yellowed bathtub and shower head combination shoved up against the far wall. The lip of the bathtub was almost close enough to touch the side of the toilet bowl.

It's small, but it doesn't stop Link from sitting on the toilet's lid while Malon clung to the sink. He tucked his feet into the bathtub, giving Malon more space as she opened her mouth wide before applying mascara to her bottom lashes. Link had once asked her "why," why did she always insist on screwing her face up while applying makeup? Did it help the makeup stick better or…? Of course, he'd never gotten a reply.

"Are you sure? I can always call in." Malon said. She slipped the wand back into the container once more before meeting Link's gaze through the sink mirror. Apparently his nightmare last night had spooked her, worried her to the point of considering staying home with him. It was thoughtful, yes, but she'd already asked the same thing again and again… and again. And each time he'd reply with, "I'd more than love if you could stay, but you know we can't afford that."

"I can call in sick."

"But then you'll feel guilty for lying."

"I can take a vacation then."

"Your supervisor would kill you if you requested one last minute like this."

She stared at him through the mirror, a scowl threatening to take place as her gaze narrowed. "Stop trying to talk me out of everything."

"I will if you'd only stop making anthills into molehills."

"Dammit! Stop making molehills _into_ anthills. Last night I was woken up by you screaming, Link, and then you didn't sleep a wink after that. You refuse to go to Valoo for help, you don't talk to me about what's bothering you, I don't know what to do! You're always telling me not to worry, but that just makes me worry even more! You don't sleep. You barely eat. I know your nightmares are getting worse, and I know your lack of sleep has been affecting you! You-"

"Malon, please sto-"

"-almost got run over by a truck because you were zoning out."

_Dammit, Pipit._

It drives him to stand up, quickly limiting the available space in the bathroom. Before she can either turn around to swat him or stop him, his arms coil around her waist before he pulls her in until their chest to back. Malon stiffened at first, but once he'd tucked his face into her neck, she relaxed.

This show of affection was not as common as she'd liked. Just like the time that they spent together. It's why, at that moment, she felt a dreaded wave of concern rush over her. It made her shudder and urged Link to wrap his arms tighter around her, banding her abdomen. Despite the rarity of their time and affection, despite loving every little moment that they were able to share together, she knew Link's sly tactics.

On any other given day, she would have smacked him for trying to calm her or distract her, but then he released the heaviest exhale against her skin. He leaned into her then, almost pushing her against the sink counter.

"I know."

Goose flesh brushed over her skin at the soft admittance. He'd whispered it, a strained and exhausted vulnerability. One that gave light to so much weighted turmoil. It made the gentle weight of his hand on her shoulder feel as if it weighed twenty pounds heavier.

"But it's all right, I'm okay. It's just work."

_Such a bad liar_. But what else could be said? He was trying to soften the sharpness of her concern. Trying to ease her frustration as well as blanket the issue with flimsy tissue paper. At least he was admitting the issues at hand, even the severity that they introduced. "Please get help. Even if it's from a psychiatrist." She'd requested it before, and at that time, he'd stormed out of the apartment in anger. Maybe even out of guilt. Because apparently having someone who liked you enough to put up with you couldn't incessantly worry over you.

Well, that wasn't quite right. Malon was being unfair, but then again, so was he. "I know seeking out help feels wrong to you. You've always been the courageous, confident one… always wanting to protect. You don't like feeling vulnerable, I get it. But there's nothing wrong in needing help every now and then. You may be my hero-"

_**My hero . . .** _

"-and all but you're also hu-" Malon stumbled over her words as Link's arms snaked even tighter around her. Had she said something wrong? Her hands found his arms, hoping to ease the sudden pressure that constricted her waist. He didn't budge though. Imitating the perfect brick wall against her back. "Link, please stop that. Either relax your arms or let go." Her nails dug into his arms, and when he didn't appear to ease the pressure, she dug her nails deeper until she'd temporarily branded his skin with crescent-shaped indents.

"Don't call me that, please." Malon flinched at his voice. It sounded more worn out than before and… fearful... was he scared?

Drawn to the change in his tone and the strange behavior, she tried to turn in his grip. Her movement was obliged, his arms finally easing around her, and she turned until they were chest to chest. As his hands found refuge on her back, hers drew up to his temples. Her fingers brushed up against soft, blond hair, and he leaned into her touch.

"Don't call you what? What's wrong?"

"I don't think-I'm not…" he sighed again, eyes closed. " _Hero_." He spoke the single word as if it had been a vulgar insult.

_**You're my Hero, always.** _

"Please." Link added. He opened his eyes then and she almost got lost in the two blue pools that met her head on. Except she'd noticed that their usual tender glow was absent. His eyes were always filled with so much emotion, but now they were a sleeping sea before a storm.

"Link, why? You're strong, capable, courageous. You're always there when I need you. You're a perfect h-"

"I'm n-I just… just respect my wishes."

"I will if you seek out help or confide in someone."

Link dropped his arms back to his side and retreated at her request. Her hands hovered in the empty air for a second before reaching out to him again. This time her palms brushed against his neck. With the gentlest of nudges, she urged him to lean forward until his lips met hers. It was a peck, brief and tender. A silent conveyance of love, acceptance, and when she'd drawn back from him to end the short kiss, he'd pulled her back in.

The kiss turned into the ghostly pains of drowning. A tinge of desperation, impending quiet yet loud at the same time. Her back pressed against the sink counter, but before it could become even remotely uncomfortable, Malon was lifted until she was perched on the lip of the sink. It was then that her fingers intertwined with the golden strands at the back of Link's head. Drowning in the kiss until her lungs throbbed.

Tugging the strands between her fingers, she pulled Link back. He obliged, but still took over her vision, crowding her senses. His close proximity was evident as he pressed his forehead against her own; kept his hands tangled in her hair, fingers flexing. Like her, his lungs were robbed of air, and when he took in gulping breaths, he released the surrendering air against her lips.

Again his eyes were closed, a furrow of his brows dredging up another wave of worry through her. The affection alone, though something she often craved, was worrisome. "Link-" his fingers that feathered in her soft hair stopped, "are you okay?"

His eyes opened again, and she sighed with relief when she saw the usual glow resting just behind the blues in his eyes. Nevertheless, the sigh caught in her throat as she watched the faint curve on his lips form like paint over porcelain.

_No, I'm not._

"I'm okay."


	5. SWORDS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganon and Zelda come into play, and we find out more about Link's dreams as his sanity gradually begins to worsen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry! I meant to release this days ago, but I've been so busy with other stuff lately.

**FIVE - SWORDS**

_ Recommendation: Man or a Monster by Sam Tinnesz, Zayde Wolf _

Halls that seemed to stretch on forever clad in marble floors and dark wooded colors, greeted the man of the hour. The escort at Ganon’s side, a man dressed in a black suit much like his own, waved a hand into the gaping maw of the hallway. He’d only made it halfway into the castle so to be left on his own… the escort was incredibly useless. The man scoffed, his fiery gaze targeting the soldier with a glare, before he turned. No matter, it wasn’t his first time visiting Hyrule’s marble castle.

His black shoes clacked against the glistening floors as he tackled the long walk to the Royal Family’s study. He’d only paused once to take out the thin smartphone from the inner pocket of his three piece suit. It pulsed in his hand, and when he unlocked the phone with a swipe of his thumb, Ghirahim’s contact and a message flashing over the small screen. 

**_We have a rat, but I was able to catch it. How should I handle it?_ **

The sudden silence that enveloped the hall was deafening, and the quick succession of his fingers over the keys did little to quell such a lack of sound.  **_I’ll leave that up to you._ ** He left it at that as there was no need to express to his subordinate to use caution and some minor discretion. Rats were common in their line of work, after all.

Before he could put away the cellphone, it vibrated once again.  **_Can I try the poison?_ ** This time he hesitated in his reply. Only for a moment, the word “poison” caught him off guard. Despite the ghost of a smile that cut across his sharp features,  **_No. It would draw too many rats in the future. Unless you test the poison in small doses._ **

He pocketed the cellphone before he crossed the expanse of the hall to the large, ornate doors. Ganon had met with the doors many times, and not once had he ever grown tired of admiring the intricate details chiseled into the thick wood. All along the door were thick branches, an interpretation of a large tree making up its center, that curled and branched out in an endless spiral. Each branch never truly ends. Each mimicry of wood curbs over the sides of the door, almost surpassing the arch way, and curls back into the large tree at the center. Behind the body of the tree were ghosted lines that stretched out, depicting a sun. An addition to the art that he hadn’t realized until two years ago. His fingers brushed atop the tree’s bark, his ring finger catching on the protruding lips. The face itself was warped and etched in slumber, eyes eternally closed.

A pregnant curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of him once and he’d asked Her Highness its origins. She’d mentioned a name, one that had been blessed to a tree sprite that had once protected a forest and its children. As his fingers brushed downward and dropped to one of the iron handles, the metal corkscrewed and shaped to imitate a vine, a whisper of recognition enveloped him. It came within a tidal wave, a stretch of cold that licked up his spine, and from it came the tree’s name,  _ Great Deku Tree _ . 

He’d brought an end to that tree many lifetimes ago. A tree that had, at one point, been more than just a picture crafted into a sliding door. The memory was fuzzy though, eaten away by time and vessels, but he felt the aged pride gifted to him when he’d learned of the Deku Tree’s death. Not that such a feeling did him any good now.

No one knew of those days or cared to remember such joyous accomplishments, not anymore.

Without delaying any further, Ganon grasped both of the iron wrought handles and pulled. The door slid open easily despite its weight. Beckoning tendrils of lavender and hibiscus to seek refuge from the room that awaited before him. He didn’t cross the threshold though. Searching amidst the shelves for the long trail of fabric in between white and red marbled floors. 

Every bookshelf, fifteen in total, was almost as tall as the high-rise ceiling. Yet no amount of shelf room had ever seemed enough for Her Highness. Each shelf was occupied, as was the floor. Several books obscured the red marbled floor, their covers either strewn about or stacked in an imitation of a tower. Against many of the bookshelves stood a small table, all of which were covered and stacked high with even more books.

“What a pity. I’d hoped you wouldn’t have come.” The melodic voice that greeted him was accompanied by a rustle of fabric to his left. Ganon bodily turned then, a grin forming as he performed the slightest of head bows. It looked more like a nod of acknowledgement, but the queen knew better than to find offense in the gesture. Arguing over such irrelevant things would get her nowhere.

“And I’d hoped you’d redecorate.” He replied with a steely chuckle once he caught the queen’s figure near the back of the library. 

Ganon turned to slide the door closed. It was much harder to close than open, but the large door slid shut regardless of the softest of groans. It was when the door latched that the queen had finally pulled away from her literary stroll. 

She stood by the mouth of an aisle with gloved hands clasped together across her torso. The jade colored sleeves draping from her thin arms like waterfalls. Gold thread glistened from the hems, and jewels of darker green took on a glow from the lights overhead. A handful of golden hair slipped free from behind her headdress, a back piece to the porcelain mask that she wore. The back piece was of dark green mesh, a color that reflected against the sides of the mask’s edges. 

It was always disconcerting seeing the queen in masks. Many of her disguises often had the eye holes covered, making her appearance dreadfully eerie. It’s what roused the rumors of her disease, of the ugliness she was hiding, or perhaps the deformation she was too ashamed to have on display. 

If only it were that simple.

As if sensing his thoughts, the queen reached with both of her small hands to the back piece. A muffled click resounded, and then the mask slipped away. Her blue eyes flashed at the sudden stream of light, but she still shuffled forward, catching the mask before it fell to the floor. 

Ganon took a moment to look over her face. Unlike the rest of his memories, her face was always prevalent and always stayed the same. A young, wintery face with rounded cheeks and a sharp chin, always greeted him with or without the aid of his past lives. Especially the eyes, two pools of freezing blue, which never ceased to amuse him with how expressive they were. 

“What did you want this time?”

Her icy gaze flickered between him and the door twice before she rolled her shoulders back. It ruffled the fabric that wrapped around her hips, but Ganon’s attention remained on her telling eyes. Their meetings weren’t entirely rare, not since the past few years. Despite their current predicament, the queen had seemed to grow restless and paranoid of him and his antics. Each meeting between them often involved questions which were spoken right off the bat, as soon as they’d made eye contact, and she’d taken off her mask. So this silence was strange. She was… hesitant?

The queen bit her lip uncharacteristically, and her gaze dropped from his own. “I had a premonition.” It was whispered, but the echo of the library made it sound as if she’d said it while standing beside him.

Ganon’s gaze widened. Premonitions were not something she had ever shared with him.  _ Especially  _ him. Not that he blamed her, considering where they stood underneath the  crumbling pages of  history. Frankly, he believed that it still stood. Even after all these years, the idea of killing her off once and for all was still tickling him from the back of his mind.

“The Hero…” that single word broke his curiosity.

“Stop it,  _ Zelda _ . The Hero is no more.”

Her brows furrowed at her own name falling from his lips. “No. He’s not. He is awakening.”

Ganon shook his head, “That’s impossible.” He scoffed, but his gaze betrayed a sliver of nerves. “How do you know?”

“Premonition.”

_ So the voices then _ . He’d caught onto how her third-eye worked long ago, and although her legacy involved visions and the like, it was still difficult for him to accept such a… strange power. A power that he would have honestly killed for, but right now, that didn’t benefit him. 

“And the Triforce?” He didn’t miss how her body tensed, and definitely didn’t miss the glare she’d shot at him. Did she seriously think that this life, this hell, satisfied him? Of course he was going to ask about the damned Triforce, the wretched and glorious treasure left by the goddesses. A treasure that had been lost, likely destroyed by the same wretched goddesses, right as their curse began.

A spell of thick silence encased the shelves around them. So he asked again, “and the Triforce?”

The queen looked away again, hands seeming to tighten on the mask within her grasp. “You’re only worried about the Triforce, after all this time?”

“Of course. Why would I be content in a world where we are nothing but characters in a mythology text? Triune, isn’t that what they call the belief and worship of the Sisters of Three?” Ganon sneered.

“I had hoped, prayed, that the time we’d suffered under this curse had changed you. I-”

“Not a surprise that your prayers fell on deaf ears. And changed me? Of course it changed me,  _ princess _ . It changed all of us.” He beckoned a hand between them, "in such a way that we have become permanent figures in time."

The scowl that often sought refuge on her face deepened. She seemed to hate it when he brought up one of the key factors surrounding the curse. It’s why he kept pressing on, allowing his anger to boil over just this once. “Neither of us can die. A curse that, at one point, would have been an honest gift from the Goddesses. But look at us, as powerless as newborns with immortality at our fingertips.” He tsked and shook his head. 

“And whose fault do you think that is?” Zelda growled out.

“Look at you, playing the ‘damsel in distress’ yet again. Holier than thou martyr. Then again, that’s what you’re good at, right? Must be a shame now though, can’t play helpless when you can’t even keel over. You’re as predictable as the mortals in this century. It takes two to tango, princess.” A pause, “And it takes two to start a war.”

“Just as it takes one to end the war.”

“Goodness, even taking the glory from your knight in shining armor? You haven’t changed either. Now, enough of this drivel. It’s getting us nowhere, and believe it or not, I do have a business to run.” Ganon said. His smile ebbed away, and his hands snaked into his front pockets. “Is the crown in need of money yet again, or perhaps you’ll take me up on that offer to get rid of some riffraff clogging your beautiful Hyrulean streets? Unless I’m here because you  _ missed _ me?”

Powerless her ass. Even as an immortal, the Gerudo before her was a thorn in her side. There had been a time when she’d thought he’d moved on, left Hyrule all together, but he’d only been lying low, shuffling his new deck of vile tricks. Just like the times back then, he was a step ahead. Philanthropy was a powerful weapon, and when it came to manipulation, her adversary was a pro. 

In time, he had had the whole country of Hyrule praising him for his so called “good deeds.” Deeds of which he’d funded with dirty money behind an even dirtier establishment. Deeds of which gave him reputation, and with reputation comes influence. Zelda hadn’t expected it, but faster than she could predict, he’d already gained enough footing to where he could run for a seat at the council. He’d gained enough ground to where one, measly opinion could set off a forest fire. 

It had been a dirty trick, to question her authority outright through the news. Stating how it seemed she was not as involved as she should be, how she obscured herself with masks, and how the crime rate had increased. Being immortal had many drawbacks. One of them being that she had to hide the fact that she was ageless through masks, veils, and limited meetings. Most of all, she had to keep the secret that Hyrule’s queen hadn’t changed for centuries. 

The crime rate wasn’t because of her lack of involvement, but no one seemed to catch onto the fact of how preposterous it sounded. It was all Ganon’s doing, an end result to his dealings with the underworld.

His accusations against her spread far and wide to the point where they drew in rumors and considerations of impeachment. Silly notions, but at the time… it wasn’t so silly. She’d allowed herself to fall right into his trap yet again. The impeachment clearly never happened, and that too was thanks to the grotesque man before her. Especially when he’d gained a seat in her council. A position which further brightened his supposedly ‘good reputation,’ especially when he began donating money to the projects that involved those in need.

If only they knew how fake, how intangible that “ethical, honest man act” was. Comparing or exposing him to what the books now dubbed as “Calamity” would do her no good though. If anything, this generation would take it as psychobabble and it would serve to only gain him favor within society.

Ignoring his remarks, Zelda said, “I summoned you here to discuss my premonition. Although I do not enjoy your company, I do believe that it is imperative that we both try to get rid of this curse. So I want to propose that any information regarding the curse should be shared.”

“You’re positive it was one of your little visions or whatever and not something you ate?”

_ The nerve of this monster.  _ “Although I haven’t had a solid one for centuries, I damn well recognized it for what it was, a premonition.” Her brows furrowed at the memory of it. They had been stripped of their godlike capabilities, but for some reason her gift of visions and omens had remained. Of course, they were nothing like back then. The visions, the voices, everything was a jumbled mess in her head, and no matter how hard she’d try, the premonitions would never settle. “I admit that my third eye has suffered from this curse, but I feel it in my bones.”

Her blue eyes settled on the thin line that had split across his face. “The Hero is awakening, Ganon.” She stated, her voice confident. In that instance, Ganon’s hands withdrew from his pockets, and he lunged toward her. 

The princess gasped, and she backpedaled until her back met with the corner of a bookshelf. “Don’t feed me that bullshit a second time. The Triforce is gone, the Goddesses are gone, and the Hero. Is.  _ Gone _ .” His left hand smashed in tandem with the last three words against one of the shelves, making the structure tremble against her back. “We are eternal and eternal we will be even after the world rots away.” Ganon’s voice rose with each word. “A punishment fit for two souls such as ours. Souls that have been touched by war, famine, and plague.”

It was then that the large door to the library opened, and a soldier garbed in a navy blue tunic appeared. The decorative emblem of the Royal Family glistened almost as brightly as the decorative sword attached to his hip. However, the black firearm in his grip only reflected the night. “Your Highn-”

“Stand down.” Zelda was quick to respond, as was Ganon who quickly re situated in front of her. His large frame obscured most of her body from view, and gave her just enough time to reach for her mask. “I am fine. Please return to your post.”

The man hesitated. Suspicion heavy on his face, not that Zelda or Ganon could see it though. His gaze swam over Ganon’s back, desperately searching for the face of his queen. “Your Highness, may I please be assured you are well?” It was only when his queen obliged the request that he lowered his weapon. 

She’d leaned off to the side, her masked face peeking out from behind her guest’s large arms. “Thank you, Your Highness. I will take my leave.” He spoke briskly, and with a slight bow of the head, he slipped back through the door. 

Ganon only stepped back when the door closed. He neared the bookshelf across from Zelda and burrowed his hands back into the pockets of his pants. “Face the music. The Hero is dead and gone.”

* * *

_ Recommendation: Between the Wars by Allman Brown _

Dreams had always plagued Link for as long as he could remember. Well, dreams were what he often wished that they were. Most of them were nightmares, and he’d noticed that they increased in frequency whenever his birthday drew near At least, that’s the pattern they’d followed until this year. Only then had the dreams came to him with every chance of sleep no matter the day of his birth.

Seeing the dead that had stumbled into his dreams became commonplace. But seeing the old woman earlier… that hadn’t been the first time he’d seen something appear only to vanish a moment later. It had been subtle at first. Especially when it came to victims in his ongoing cases. Now, it felt like every dream was becoming more real than the world around him.

Was it a problem? Yes. Was it something he shared or admitted? No. Because talking about it made the horrific things in the dreams  _ feel  _ so tangible. Because admitting it was a problem meant that something was very,  _ very  _ wrong. Whether the wrong was in him, the world around him, or something else; he only knew that sharing just made it worse.

It was like the depression. Admitting the depression made it feel thicker, heavier, and colder. Yet another thing he often failed to share even with Malon. She was a perceptive girl though. She likely knew, but she was also kind, and probably never brought it up for his sake.

So there were two problems that he’d discovered and waded through for the majority of his life. Problems of which were surely driving him insane. Problems of which would surely put a strain on his relationship with Malon. Problems which led him here, to the psychiatric office that Malon had suggested all those months ago.

Link was startled when the door opened. It was noiseless, leaving an eerie deafness, but the sound of footfalls had pulled him from his trance. He re-situated on the small couch and sunk further into the plush, brown fabric. 

“Good afternoon, Link. I’m Doctor Impa.” The room snapped into winter. A whiplash that gnawed on his nerves as his blue eyes whirled on the owner of that painfully familiar voice.

“You-” Link’s voice caught, the cold climbing into his mouth and numbing his tongue. The woman from before, the one that had been garbed in a ragged cape of grays and blues, that had disintegrated right before his eyes, was standing before him yet again. She looked less aged, the wrinkles not quite deep enough to carve canyons into her skin. Her eyes were different too, a natural brown instead of bright red. Yet her appearance reeked of nostalgia, just as her voice which sent phantom echoes through him. 

“Have we met before?” Her smile seemed misplaced. Those lips did not match that face. “Sorry, I don’t recall ever meeting you before. Admittedly, I am forgetful of names and faces.” She moved like the leaves in fall, closing the distance to the single chair that was positioned across from Link and the couch. He followed her with his eyes, unable to pull his gaze away just like before. “So the paperwork that you filled out... you’re here due to having insomnia triggered by nightmares which in turn resulted in hallucinations, is that correct?” The old woman sat down silently with the foriegn smile still littered over her cheeks.

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His mouth won’t open for words to come out. Maybe it’s the shock or the abrupt chill of the room, but his body can’t even move to shiver. 

“When did you start losing sleep from dreams?” Her smile was dwindling as was the touch of winter in the room. When he didn’t reply right away, she asked again, “when did you start losing sleep due to your dreams, Link?” Then, as if it’s an afterthought, “are you all right?”

_ Since the beginning.  _

“Y-Yes. Sorry, I’m-I…” he cleared his throat, the cold dwindled just like her smile. “For as long as I can remember.” He mentally cursed at the tremble in his voice. 

There’s no way this woman was a hallucination. There was no reason to be afraid of her, an elderly woman who he’d probably seen out in Farore before. After all, faces in dreams were not concocted straight from the imagination. At least, that’s what Malon had told him.

“I see. Are your dreams the same, do they depend on the day you’ve had?” He didn’t remember seeing the yellow notepad in her grasp when she’d walked in. The one which she’d placed over her knees, pen at the ready. Then again he’d been too caught up in the sick feeling of familiarity.

It took him a beat of silence before he could muster a reply. “All of them--well, most of them--have involved death, war, or… sword fighting.” Link scrunched his nose at the last part, never one to have really wielded a blade. 

“Death? Is it your death or someone else’s?”

“It varies.”

“I see. What about the dreams that don’t involve death, war, or swords?”

“It varies. I mean, I can’t remember  _ every  _ dream I’ve ever had.”

“Could you give me an example of one, at least, that wasn’t about those three events?”

Discomfort slithered in and coiled around his chest. Talking to Malon about his dreams had been difficult enough, but this? It felt alien. Especially with what had occurred mere seconds ago. “I-I don’t know. Failure, I guess?” 

“Failure? Could you go into more detail?”

**_We needed you, but you never came._ **

He winced visibly, but the woman’s attention was focused solely on her notepad. “I’m being depended on, relied on by someone… but I can’t remember  _ why _ . I know I need to finish something or  _ do _ something, but I don’t know what it is. All I know is that if I can’t remember, then everything around me will fall, or die. That I will fail and everything…” he stopped and his abrupt trail cut off her attention from her notepad. She looked up then and her eyes met his.

“Everything?” She prompted.

“Everything will--it will become nothing.” How else could he explain that gaping hole that burrowed into his very soul each time that dream passed him by? It was one of the few that recurred, over and over. However, it didn’t always end on the discovery of a dead body.

“I see. Have you ever been diagnosed with depression?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with my knack for not sleeping like a ‘normal’ person.”

“I’m just trying to cover all the bases. I’m not trying to insinuate that this is something as simple as a bout of depression, I assure you. So dreams about death, war, or swords, let’s call those the Big Three. Can you talk about one of your dreams that involves the Big Three?” 

He couldn’t. He hadn’t even shared most of those, the ones that focused on people he knew and loved, with Malon. Let alone shared the dreams that involved him dying. No, she only knew that his dreams had an uncanny tendency to end up like deja vu. 

Hesitantly, Link relayed one of his recent dreams. It was a recurring one, and it had been with him the longest. It wasn’t always the same, but no matter what, the image of a skeleton cloaked in shadows wiedling a rusted blade always appeared. Only on special occasions did the skeleton appear garbed in aged armor. When it did appear in its armor, he could always see a single, red eye glowing from one of its eye sockets.

It had only been recently that the skeleton appeared after signs of death. He could never quite remember who died in those dreams though, but there was one that he vividly remembered. One that he tried to forget. In all of these dreams, before a couple of days ago, Malon had never shown up in them. Now? It felt as if he saw glimpses of her in every single moment of sleep. He told the doctor that he supposed it was because he remembered the look on her face, the look of death. That and he could still hear his own cries thrumming at the back of his head.

_ Not again… not like this…  _

She asked what he might’ve meant by saying that, but he honestly wasn’t sure.

“Interesting. Well, besides prescribing a sleeping aid, I believe that you should look into changing your diet. You mentioned before,” she flipped through the notepad before settling on a single page, “that you drink more coffee than water and most definitely eat less than the recommended 2,000 calories a day. This, along with stress, could easily help in progressing your insomnia. So I think it would be in your best interest if we tackle one thing at a time, and by this I mean the diet.”

“And the stress, what should I do to help with stress? And don’t say working out or something like that. Physical labor or exercise doesn’t always help.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to suggest  _ only  _ that. You should definitely take a few days off of work, when able, too. But one thing at a time, Link. Now, let’s end this session here. I’ll just need you to sign a few more papers before you leave. Make sure you talk with the receptionist about your prescription. I’ll be giving you a low dosage, take one capsule an hour before bed.” As she talked, she set the notepad down on the arm of her chair and rose. Link followed suit, and watched as she rounded the chair she’d sat in and headed to the desk crammed in the farthest corner of the room.

The desk was covered in papers, and the sight of it reminded him of the office back in FCPD. Especially when he caught sight of multiple coffee mugs stacked by the desktop monitor. Doctor Impa squeezed into the narrow passage of the desk and paused at the row of filing cabinets that stood up against the wall behind the desk’s chair. The drawer that she pulled on released an awful screech. 

“Blasted thing,” she murmured as she pilfered through what Link noticed to be a row of manilla folders. Her fingers took to one folder and she plucked it out. Flipping it open, she picked the top two papers, and then closed the folder shut before slipping it back into the drawer. It screeched again, and she headed back around her desk toward him with the two papers in tow.

He reached for the proffered papers, but she paused just as she reached the couch. “Oh, and here.” She dug through her pocket with her freehand, but when her hand came out empty, she handed him the papers and searched in her other pocket. “Aha! Here, take this. I have so many already from my last order. Besides, you never know when a pen will come in handy.” Her laugh was strange, and Link couldn’t quite put it into words on just why it sounded so off. He took the offered pen anyways, along with the paper. “Just fill those two out real quick and hand them to reception. I’ve got another appointment to get ready for so I’ll leave first.” She bowed her head in parting, grabbed her notebook from her chair, and briskly left the room.

When the door closed, leaving him in solitude and deafening silence, Link let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The tension in the air, the haze of uncertainty, had gone with the doctor, and now the room felt as empty as it had before her arrival. He shook his head, not wanting to think any more of what he’d just experienced, and drew his attention down to the forms in-hand. Both of them just required his signature along with an agreement that he understood that anything discussed during the session was not to be discussed with anyone else other than him. Well, as long as the doctor didn’t feel that his life was in danger. 

Link fell back into the couch and sunk into its cushions as he situated the papers on his lap. Twiliring the pen in hand, he glanced at it for the briefest moment before assessing the dotted lines on both of the forms. The pen wasn’t spectacular in the slightest, a simple silver finishing with a triangle symbol etched near the top. Dragging his thumb up over the side of the pen, he pressed it against the clicker, and the pen vanished. 

With a sharp  _ shing _ , a blade pushed outward and nearly burrowed itself into his leg. A hilt flipped out on either side as the pen’s thickness grew within the breath of a second. His fingers slipped under the sudden weight, and the blade… a  _ sword,  _ clattered to the floor. It fell with a solid thud, and Link jumped backward, his legs snapping back as he  nearly  flew up to the couch’s back.

“Holy shit!” His voice ricocheted in the small room as his brows climbed higher and higher up his forehead.  _ I’m losing it. That’s it, I’ve officially gone crazy. _

Link looked over the couch at the sword on the floor. Its blade glared underneath the overhead lights, and the insignia of a triangle burnt itself into his mind. That insignia, a triangle made up of three smaller triangles, had quickly become a normal occurrence in his nightmares. It was the very same symbol that constantly etched itself into the back of his left hand as if it were a part of him. As if it belonged there. 

The sight of it sent tendrils of fear down his spine. First the deja vu, then the old woman, and then the doctor. Now  _ this _ ? At the very thought of it all, at his capsizing sanity, Link laughed aloud. His laughter took on a sour note, abruptly turned bitter before it ever had the chance to turn into what he would’ve considered insane. It wasn’t out of self-awareness or some form of insecurity. No, his laughter had ebbed into the silence the longer his gaze rested on the blade beneath him. 

Just like everything else that  _ shouldn’t  _ be real, that  _ shouldn’t  _ happen, the sword looked familiar. A torturous feeling of misplaced nostalgia coiled around him, branded his thoughts with a hot iron. 

Absently, as if his fingers bore a will of their own, his hand reached to the sword that glistened from the overhead lights. His blue eyes were unseeing as his index finger pressed against the blade. Other fingers followed, and he caressed the smooth surface up to its purple hilt. 

This sword, he’d seen it before. No, not just that. He’d felt it, swung it, wore it as a badge of honor. He knew the song it sang in the depths of battle. He knew the weight of it. Without a doubt, he even knew how it felt when it split open flesh and muscle. A strange feeling, this wicked nostalgia, considering he’d never wielded a blade in his life. He’d never had a need to carry and swing around a sword. Why bother when there were firearms? After all, one never brought a knife to a gunfight. Yet this sword made him think otherwise. It made him feel, believe, that it could outlive and outbeat any blade and any bullet. 

One by one his fingers curled around the hilt, and he pulled the blade up and away from the carpeted floor.

**_It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this._ **

Link hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the blade was sitting atop his knees. Whether it was the touch of cold metal against his jeans or the distant voice resounding in a phantom memory, he wasn’t sure what drew him from his stupor. Either way he was reeling backward once again, but the blade followed. He wasn’t sure why until his left elbow smacked painfully into the armrest. The blade clattered to the floor again then, no longer held by his left hand. 

That feeling of alien nostalgia vanished along with the strange sense of comfort at having the blade in his hand. His eyes followed its fall again, and he stared at it a moment more. Perhaps for too long, as the door to the office squeaked open.

“The receptionist said you hadn’t come over so I wanted to make sure everything’s okay?” Impa poked her head in and smiled warmly. The smile was short lived though as her eyes swept over Link. He was perched atop her couch and looked ready to flee at any moment. “Why, you’ve looked like you’ve seen a ghost…” she trailed as her eyes seemed to follow his gaze down to… “oh, is the pen not to your liking?”

_ What? _ Link’s blue eyes resurfaced from the pen and narrowed on the doctor. Could she not see it? Was it really his imagination running wild? 

She opened the door wider and squeezed in, chuckling all the while. “Apologies. Here, I’ll get you another, but let me get that for you.” Impa closed the distance between her and the “pen,” and reached down to pick it up. As soon as her fingers barely even grazed the hilt, the sword  _ vanished _ .

_ Yep… I’ve totally lost it. _


	6. SNAKES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we learn a bit about a strange drug's origin, Link attempts to look into a symbol he finds on his sword-err-pen, and then dates with a dash of wariness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the kudos and comments! Sorry this one was a few days later than normal. I was struggling on if I should continue it or not, but then realized how information (or lack thereof) is in this chapter. 19 pages seems a good amount for now, yeah? Also I hate how Google docs, Microsoft, and whatever AO3 has different spelling for certain words. Makes me paranoid even after I looked up things like parts on a sword, etc.
> 
> No more song suggestions, those honestly tire me out because then I second guess if it really fits the way I felt it fit the other day.

**SIX- SNAKES**

Ghirahim’s gloved fingers rubbed a streak of black ichor over the blue knit scarf before burrowing into the young journalist’s neck. The journalist trembled within his grasp, and he tightened his hold until the trembling began to stall.

Ghirahim turned the shivering man's head from side to side. His gaze trailing over the black ichor that had begun to ooze from the man’s eyes and drip along his chin. They’d only been down here in the depths of Lon Lon Industries for roughly three hours, and already the body before him was beginning to break down from the increased use of the opioid.

His test subject, Revali Rito, was tied up against a metal chair. At the start, he’d had difficulty forcing Revali to stay on the chair. That is, until Ghirahim had introduced his body to the drug. Only then had Revali become lenient. His eyes had glazed over, drawn to an eternal distance, and he’d eventually fallen unconscious all together. The only sign of life that he gave was sporadic shivering and the faint rise and fall of his chest. 

The door across from him creaked as it opened, and he relented his grip on Revali when he heard a familiar clearing of the throat. 

“Learn anything?” Ghirahim glanced over his shoulder as Ganon stepped farther into the room. The room itself was relatively small. It had once been a maintenance closet, but had recently been cleared for events such as testing an opioid. It was only used for a specific opioid though, one that was only allowed to be administered by Ganon’s most trusted employees. Something that was hard to come by these days, but Ganon would never have to worry about Ghirahim betraying him.

Ghirahim stepped to the side and allowed Ganon view of their newest test subject. “I feel like it’s evolved or mutated.”

“This is the rat you’d mentioned?” Ganon’s voice shook with noticeable disgust before he turned away to the small, metal table that sat just a foot away from Revali’s chair.

“Yes. He’s a journalist. Was following the rumors of Lon Lon’s underground business.”

The tanned man plucked an empty syringe carefully between two fingers and turned it from side to side. “How much have you given him?” 

“Just two and a half milliliters. The one from before had only been given three before that black stuff began to show.”

“What of his mental state?”

“Not sure, he’s been out cold for an hour or so. I’d say about thirty minutes after the injection he became lenient and disassociated. I can’t tell if it’s progressed since we’ve only tried it on a handful of people.”

“Which is why Amanda’s report should shed some light on how it’s been mutating. What about the warehouse in Ordona?”

“The shipments that were brought in were all contaminated within an hour.”

Ganon nodded before circling Revali once, twice, only to stop beside Ghirahim. “Release him within a few hours, but before that, make sure you get rid of any video footage that would prove he’d visited us. After that, I have some interesting news that I think you’d like to hear.” Ghirahim’s brows arched as he watched a shadow of a grin slither across the taller man’s face. “I met with the queen today, and she said some interesting things.”

“The Hero, is it about his return? I thought his legacy had died along with the Triforce and Master Sword.” There was a sickening lilt of delight in Ghirahim’s voice, and it only helped in darkening Ganon’s smile. 

“The queen had some interesting words to say. Her powers have weakened significantly, but I wouldn’t be surprised that her premonitions reign true. Which is why I cannot help but wonder if this opioid will help us find him.”

Ghirahim’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. His thoughts running over one another as Ganon’s words echoed along the walls. “How would it help locate him? The opioid is just a drug contaminated by that artifact you brought in from Gerudo a few months back.”

Ganon was quiet for a moment, but then his eye moved to stare at Ghirahim with dark humor, and his lips curled into a gruesome grin.  “ This is why I don't trust you with much more than brute tasks, you don't use your brain."

Ghirahim gritted his teeth but kept his emotions in check, the last thing he needed after a day like today was some perverted punishment. Ganon chuckled at his minion’s submission, and turned to begin leaving the room, " That 'artifact' is called the  _ Mirror of Twilight _ .”

* * *

_ That’s is, I’m losing it.  _

It was the only thought that made sense to Link as he stared at the pen in-between his hands. He’d sought refuge in one of Lanayru’s renowned parks. It was the only park in the prefecture that had a large, crystal clear pond accompanied by a small cliff that expanded out and over the water. Link had taken a seat by the water, and had remained there for over an hour. 

Autumn wind coiled around him. A swarm of golden leaves rustled beneath his boots. Children played along the lip of the pond, their laughter bouncing against the trees and along the water’s surface. However, none of it reached Link. His senses were clouded, ears and nerves numb to both sound and touch. The only thing that had reached him was the feel of the feather light pen in his grip. 

He’d likely clicked the pen over a hundred times now, and each click ended in the sword replacing the pen. Each transformation had his arms straining against the heavy blade. His fingers constantly shivered around the bone chilling hilt with uncertainty. There had been more than one instance where he’d ran his middle finger along the edge. As soon as the pad of his finger had barely even grazed over the sharp metal, it had sliced into his skin. It felt like a paper cut, but thicker and deeper. Oddly enough it was the only way to turn the sword back into a pen.

Was it just his blood specifically, and why had it turned back into a pen when that psychiatrist had used it? Again he ran his finger along the edge, and as soon as his blood covered a fraction of the blade, it turned into a pen in the blink of an eye. 

What was even stranger was how  _ familiar  _ it felt. As if he’d used it as much as he’d used his issued firearm, a weapon that he’d been so used to that it almost felt like it was a part of his hand. Yet the feel of the smooth, marbled pommel that flared out like wings; the solid, plated cross-guard, and bevelled cuts along the fuller felt as if he was running his hands along his own skin. It felt  _ right _ . It belonged there, within his hands, just as the sun belonged in the sky.

“I’ve never wielded a sword before. I don’t--I didn’t even know what a ‘cross-guard’ was before this thing.” Link muttered to himself, grimacing as he turned the pen over and over in his palms. 

Should he try and tell someone about this? 

His blue eyes lifted up to gaze at the children and the other passerby that wandered aimlessly around the park. No one who’d passed him seemed to notice the pen’s ability. Then again, even if they had, he likely wouldn’t have noticed. His attention too set on the strange item before him. Even now as he looked over the six children that tried to edge up to the pond’s cliff in a game of dare, giggling mercilessly, did his senses still trace around the pen’s barrel. Their laughter barely broke through his troubled thoughts. Nothing but distant static riding on the wind. 

It was then as his eyes resettled on the pen that he came to the decision that, no, he should tell no one of this. Who would believe him? 

_ Exactly, no one. _

Again he clicked it, and again the blade appeared. The muscles in his arms strained, and then everything shifted into place. It still felt heavy, but his arms did not struggle underneath it. 

Once more he looked over the silver blade with its purple hilt with a critical gaze. His brows furrowed, and his eyes carefully traced the smallest of details along the metal. They strayed on the insignia that was etched underneath the rain-guard, underneath the yellow encrusted crystal. At the center of the ricasso where the face of the blade splayed outward before narrowing to the point, a small triangle glistened underneath the afternoon sun. Every time he set eyes on it, a burning headache creeped up along the back of his head.

That triangle, a shape that was made of three smaller triangles, haunted his dreams constantly. He’d never seen it outside of his dreams until now. But then, this sword before him couldn’t be real. A tingle across his freshly cut fingers reminded him though that it  _ couldn’t  _ be his imagination. There was no possible way he was losing it this much. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Gradually, his thumb brushed along the triangular shape. Its etching was raised to where he could run his thumb over each intricate line. It was as his finger met the bevelled side of the blade that an idea came to mind.

The symbol had to mean something, right? There was no possible way he could have just made it up, over and over again, right? So then, where or how could he find out more about it?

_ Library? Coogle? _

Anything was better than nothing.

That thought alone urged him to draw blood along the blade, reverting it back to the pen. Taking one last look at the pen before pocketing it away, he stood up and quickly shuffled along the lip of the pond. As soon as he crossed the expanse of the pond did his senses envelope him in a tidal wave. The crisp fall air slid into his coat, and it forced a shiver over him as the noise of the laughing children plummeted into silence.

_ There are children yet there is no laughter. _

That thought had a mind of its own. It wasn’t his, but it was. A soft brush of recognition tangling with his conscience. His head swiveled, and he looked for the children that had lingered near the edge of the cliff. There were no children around the pond though. In fact, the park was empty. All except for the snake that sat curled up on itself.

Its body was of pure white, eyes dripping with sunlight, and it sat where the group of children had been. Link blinked, but the snake still remained. From where he stood just a few feet away from the pond, it looked bigger than his arm and longer than his body. 

“ _ Link, Hero chosen by the goddesses…” _

The words pierced his ears, and he watched in alarm as the world around them darkened until it was only him and the white snake. 

_ “Go to the princess--” _

His body burned, no longer touched by the autumn breeze. 

_ “Locked away in the castle.” _

Link grimaced, his jaws locked painfully together as the voice grew louder and louder until it was screaming. His hands clapped over his ears, but it did little to deter the scream from grating along his senses. 

_ “The princess holds the ke--” _

“Are you okay, mister?”

In an instant, the darkness vanished and the snake disappeared. The pain and noise that had prodded him fell away with the imagery, devoured by the brightly lit park and six small, rounded faces. The children he’d seen playing along the pond stood before him with eyes colored in concern. 

“My dad said that adults don’t cry, but you look like you’re gonna cry.” The young girl right in front of him said, her chin raised high in the air as she looked him up and down over her nose. Her friends giggled.

Link blinked, brows raised in confusion as he looked between the spot where the snake had been to the children before him. One of the shorter children, a boy with chubby cheeks, adds to his friend’s comment, but it fell on deaf ears as Link quickly turned on his heels and rushed out of the park. 

Only when he crossed the street to his cruiser did he stop, heaving a sigh before pinching the bridge of his nose with a hand. There’s a curse ready to overflow from his lips, but the hallucination or whatever it was, still pulled at him. Its grip was solid and heavy, quieting any words or thoughts that resurfaced in the fog of his mind. He struggled to sift through his keys for the driver’s side door, but when he opened it and heaved himself onto the seat, he heard the bell-like chime of his cellphone. 

He recognized the chime to be Malon’s assigned text tone, something she’d picked out when he’d first gotten the cellphone. With a groan he shifted, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The pen slipped out of his pocket and rolled to the back of the car seat. Link hastily picked it up and tossed it into an empty cup holder before unlocking his phone.

**_How are you feeling today?_ **

That single text cleared the layer of mist that haunted his mind. Her concern pulled a ghost of a smile across his lips. She was definitely too good for him. He typed out a brief reply, a simple “better,” but as he sent it he found himself shaking his head. No, she’d know he was lying through his teeth.

**Better.**

**I met with a psychiatrist named Impa. I’ll be meeting her again next week. She kind of made me feel a bit better, free, kinda.**

It was partly true. He would be seeing her next week, but he didn’t feel better in the slightest. No, if anything, he felt worse. He didn’t admit it though as he placed his cell phone next to the pen and turned the key in the ignition. 

* * *

Lanayru’s library, Gaebora Library, was a vast, two-story building aligned with large stone columns and bright red brick. Wide windows framed the front of the building, spanning across two stories. Their size dwarfed the black rimmed, rotating doors, and the brick path that bridged the parking lot to the main entrance. Link hadn’t visited the library in years, but as he walked in, the smell of leather bound books, ink on paper, and aged wood brought forth a myriad of memories. 

He and Malon had had many study dates here during their high school days. In fact, they’d practically lived within the library’s four walls during college. Both trying their best to beat the other by graduating with honors. Malon, of course, had beat him.

Link paused a few feet away from the doors, and breathed in the nostalgia. It was calming, grounding, and he did it once more before he turned toward the front desk. The librarian who greeted him there looked the same as he remembered. Her gray hair was tied up tight in a high bun, square glasses precariously perched along the bridge of her nose, and her earrings were long and they jingled against her sharp, padded shoulders.

“What can I help you with, dearie?” Her voice even sounded the same, whispers of paper against paper. 

He clenched and unclenched his teeth over the question. How exactly should he word this? “I’m not really sure if you can help me, but I’m searching for anything that might have to do with a symbol that I’ve seen before.”

“Well, I might be able to help. What is the symbol?”

“Can I draw it instead of describing it?”

She nodded somberly and plucked a yellow post-it note from somewhere underneath the counter. Placing it in front of him, she then scooted a worn pencil into his view. He took both in hand and leaned against the counter.

The symbol itself was ingrained in his mind now, lingering like an omen, but he carefully drew out the large triangle. He then broke it up into three smaller pieces with the use of an upside down triangle. He drew the lines slowly as if they were the hardest thing he’d drawn in his life. When the lines met he set down the pencil and looked up at the aged librarian. “Have you ever seen this?”

Her brows gradually furrowed as she peered down at his drawing. Her nod was slower than when he’d drawn the lines. “Yes, I believe so. That’s a symbol that was used in the Triune religion. Here, let me see if we have any of the books on that for you to check out.”

_ A religious symbol? _

She moved away from the counter, out of view, and left him to stand against the stillness of the library. She’d only been gone for a minute or so though, returning with a printed list in-hand. “This,” she tapped a wrinkled finger against a single string of numbers, “is a shelf number upstairs. Look for the mythology section first, then go by the number. We only have one book, but I think it’s in a different language.”

Link thanked her with a smile, and with the sheet of paper in hand he headed for the carpeted stairs that would lead him to the second floor. From there he followed the signs that pointed toward the genre-based sections. Mythology sat to the far right on a large square of dark blue carpet that was surrounded by golden trim. Its shelves were almost as tall as the walls.

He followed the numbers along the shelves until he found the one printed on the paper. It took a moment before he found the book, and when he did, he felt a bead of disappointment form in his chest. From the stem alone, the book was damaged. It had clearly been repaired, but as he pulled it from the shelf he noticed that the book closed inwardly. Multiple holes aligned the stem, signifying that a lot of papers were missing. 

Regardless, he sought out a table tucked away in a corner and gently opened the book. The cover didn’t open to the first page, but it did open to the 232nd page.  _ That many pages are missing?  _

Like the librarian had said, the words that littered the pages were in a completely different language. The only thing he could remotely understand were the pictures at least, but there weren’t many throughout the remaining text. 

There was a picture of the symbol though, but its three pieces were broken up separately and were held by three black figures. Each figure was surrounded by colored lines, but the actual color was beyond Link. Age had definitely discolored the ink from its original appearance.

Then there was the last picture near the back of the book. It was an illustration drawn out in charcoal from what he could tell. A drawing of the sword,  _ the  _ sword that the pen turned into, stood in the middle of a clearing. It was guarded by a thick line of trees, and locked in place by some form of light that streamed down like a waterfall. It was then as he leaned onto the table, eyes widening as he looked the illustration up and down, that the foreign letters below it shifted. They swirled in his peripheral, and melted into a language that he could read. Yet when his gaze snapped to the words, the foreign text remained. 

He’d seen it though.

_ Master Sword, the bane of all things evil, all things dark, is the weapon that can only be wielded by the  _ **_Hero_ ** _ of-- _ It was all he’d managed to read and recognize before the text, much like the sword, reverted back to its original shape.

_ Maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought I was, but,  _ “Hero of what though?” He couldn’t help the indignant growl or the way he banged his fist against the table as he spoke his question aloud. The need to finish the sentence, to find out what type of Hero wielded the blade was something that he desperately needed to know. Without knowing, he felt lost, insane, borderline empty.

He relinquished a heavy sigh, feeling utterly defeated, and closed the book. Link hunched down on his chair then, but before he could dwell over the missing pages and its missing words, his phone vibrated against his side. A reminder that there were other means of research and discovery. 

Quickly, he pulled out his cellphone and opened the service provider’s Internet browser. His fingers tripping over themselves as he typed out  _ Master Sword _ . The results that the tab brought up were fruitless, but he tried again.

_ Triune Mythology Master Sword. _

That brought up a few results, twenty articles to be exact, but five of them were from the same site. It was better than nothing though. With a slow inhale and a silent prayer, he tapped the first article. W a k a pedia’s title sprang up in bold letters, followed by an article that focused on the Triune mythology.

_ Triune is a polytheistic religion that worships three goddesses: Nayru, Farore, and Din. Its religious practices gradually died out in the early 1200s, during the era of Argae. It is said that the belief in Triune ended during a great war. Not much is known about the religion as most of the shrines and documents were destroyed during the war’s aftermath.  _

_ Symbols of a tool called the Triforce and a magical weapon--Master Sword--are reiterated throughout remaining documents. According to the texts, the Triforce was said to have been a gift from the goddesses that granted any wish. While the weapon was said to protect the Triforce from those who harbored wishes of malicious intent. _

It was something he hadn’t known beforehand, but it didn’t answer his question. There was no mention of heroes. There was no explanation as to why the Triforce appeared in both his dreams and his hallucinations. With a click of his tongue he went back to the search engine, skimming through each article that he opened.

_ Ended during a great war… _

_ Master Sword… _

_ Triforce said to have granted wishes… _

Nothing pointed him to the answers he wanted, no,  _ needed _ . It felt as if he had an itch that couldn’t be scratched, or a gaping wound that couldn’t be stitched up. Something akin to an unquenchable thirst.

His phone vibrated in his hand, startling him from his frustrated stupor. Part of a message materializing above the screen before slowly disappearing. At the sight of Malon’s name, Link opened the message.

**Good, I’m glad!**

**Um, would you be up to have dinner tonight?**

Link reread the two text messages over and over again until they took over his jarred thoughts. It didn’t make replying any easier though as he struggled to form words, his attention still partly pulled to the old book on the table. 

**Date night?** A third message from her popped up, and it drew all of his attention onto the two small words.

Date night… they hadn’t had that in a long while. They were definitely overdue for one, but could he do it? He wasn’t in the right mind for something so intimate. But if he said no, Malon would definitely be sad. She’d be worried again too. 

_ She deserves someone better than me.  _ He shook his head as soon as the idea came to mind. Pushing the book farther away from him so he could rest his elbows on the table, he typed out his response, but then quickly deleted it. It took two more attempts until he found the right words he wanted to send.

**Wouldn’t have my night any other way.**

* * *

Malon was dressed in light green scrubs. Her long red hair pulled back and tied into a loose ponytail. She smiled brightly as soon as she spotted Link trudging down the sidewalk. Her laughter reached his ears and submerged him in a feeling of peace that quickly swept away all of his worries from the day. Even under the streetlight, he could see the freckles splashed along her cheeks, and the closer he got, the brighter her smile became.

“Hey, Link!” Her voice vibrated through him. 

She closed the distance between them, but stopped a few inches from him. At first, he thought it was because she could read the trepidation that he’d fallen victim to earlier in the day. It was only when she’d looked up at him, a smile still as bright as the stars overhead, that he’d realized that she was waiting for him to make the first move. It was something she did on occasion, all for him. Even if she needed a hug, a touch of affection, as much as she needed to breathe, she always kept him in mind. After all, affection for Link didn’t come and go as easily as it did for her.

“Hey, Mal. How was your shift?” Link matched her smile, and drew a hand onto her shoulder. 

Her eyes had shifted to his hand on her right shoulder before moving along his arm and back to his face. “Long and boring, the usual. Sorry I didn’t have time to dress into something… nicer.” She frowned, but found comfort when he squeezed her shoulder.

“If you looked any better then you’d definitely outshine me, and we can’t have that.”

Malon laughed, shaking her head, “No, we most certainly cannot,  _ pretty boy _ .”

He smiled alongside her, and moved closer toward her. His hand slipped down her arm and tangled in her own, fingers interlacing. “Come on, I bet you haven’t eaten since this morning.” Link accused before pulling her toward the restaurant. 

She’d chosen it an hour ago, and the name did not go unnoticed by him.  _ The White Snake _ , although famous for its authentic Chinese cuisine, was definitely not something he would’ve recommended or even considered since his hallucination in the park. In fact, just by glancing at the sign that looked down on them with its royal gold accents, did little to ease the agitation in his stomach.

He must’ve tightened his hold on Malon’s hand because she wrapped her freehand over his bicep, and she squeezed it out of concern. It helped anchor him as the glass doors closed at their backs. The warm air, thick with the scent of even warmer food, blanketed them and chased away the cold autumn night. They were quickly ushered into a booth in the far side of the restaurant that sat in view of the sparkling fountain. It was the centerpiece of the restaurant, housing a porcelain statue of a white snake with ruby eyes that coiled around the rocks that made up the fountain. Jagged rocks which shone like gemstones underneath the high ceiling lights overhead.

Link traced his attention along the snake, its mouth open wide and pointed in his direction. Its saber-like fangs were trimmed in gold just like the slight hint of scales that covered its smooth form. It didn’t look like the snake from the park at all, but it still had him eyeing it warily. Almost as if he expected it to snap its gaping mouth shut.

“I’m surprised you said okay to this place. It’s a little more expensive than what we’re used to.” Malon spoke up sheepishly from across him. Her hands flicked at the faux leather bound menu. 

True, but they rarely went out like this. Once in a while wouldn’t burn much of a hole in their pockets. “I know how much you like dumplings, and if I remember correctly, this place has the best pork dumplings in Lanayru.”

She grinned and shook her head before she pulled open the menu. They sat there in a subtle silence as the sound of an erhu and a guzheng danced around the restaurant. The two instruments twirled along one another and traced along the decorative snake’s scales. Their music gradually gained depth and grew in volume, at first working together harmoniously, but as Link’s senses dulled to the melodies, they began to sound like they were fighting for dominance.

It was then that his eyes lifted from the menu and resettled on the snake. Its head was turned more to the side so that a single ruby eye looked him up and down, its jaw closed. Then ever so gently it turned its head until both of its red eyes were in plain view. A golden tongue slithered out, equally golden fangs glistening sharply underneath the light. 

_ O Hero chosen by the gods… the dark power that you seek… _

“I think I’ll get the Peking duck this time around. What about you?” At Malon’s voice, the discord of music settled until it was one with the background, and the snake’s mouth was open as it stared straight ahead into nothing.

Link blinked, brows furrowing, and with the slightest shake of his head he pulled his attention back to the red head before him. He was met with glimmering cobalt, her eyes boring into his, and she frowned. “Are you okay?” Her right eye squinted slightly.

_ No. I’m seeing things, Malon. _

“Sorry, just tired. Looking forward to those sleeping pills later on.”  _ Honestly, I’m afraid of sleep. What if the hallucinations get worse?  _ “So Peking duck, yeah? Why bother when you hate duck.”

“Did you sleep at all today? And I do  _ not  _ hate  _Peking_ duck. The only poultry I hate is the poultry Pipit makes for your office parties. That monstrosity is definitely not cucco and it’s nowhere close to being turkey.”

“Not really. I stayed up when you left for work. As for Pipit’s holiday dish, he told me it was actually pork once.”

“That is not how pork should taste then!” She wagged her finger between them, “You all really should ban his mystery meat before it makes someone sick.”

They shared a fit of laughter. A laughter that robbed Link of his worries and stress, leaving him in a sort of daze as Malon continued. “Now don’t worry. I warned him not to bring that dish to your party. Which  _ will  _ be this Saturday. You’re not one for surprises so I figured I should probably tell you beforehand.” 

That feeling of peace was broken in an instant at the reminder of his birthday. Link pulled his eyes from hers as he silently counted the days. Today was Tuesday, and the hallucinations, the dreams,  _ everything _ seemed to be getting much worse. If it was only four days away then would everything continue to spiral downward? And would it continue to do so even after his birthday?

Because unlike last year or the years before that, he didn’t remember the hallucinations mixing so well into his world. After all, the event with the old woman across the street when he’d stepped out of Valoo had been the first time he’d been unable to tell reality from fantasy. He especially didn’t remember having swords pop out of pens or foreign words making sense at the corner of his eye.

“Link?”

He blinked hard, and managed a grunt in acknowledgement. This time his gaze stuck to the menu, unable to meet her gaze. “Yeah, I’d rather not have his mystery concoctions as an entree for my birthday. And thanks. I’ll try to make sure to get out of work a bit early.”

“If nothing crazy happens.” Link heard her sigh.

She’d superstitiously wrapped her knuckles twice against the top of the table just as their waiter accompanied them. Without hesitation, Malon ordered her Peking duck, while he took a moment longer before ordering his usual dish of Sichuan pork. It was only when the waiter had stepped away that Malon piped back up.

“Are you okay? You look kind of,” she paused, then, “I don’t know, disturbed, maybe? You aren’t still angry about the party, are you? You know I just want to celebrate the day you were born. Are birthdays really that uncomfortable for you?”

“No, I’m--”

“I mean, you get like this every year when your birthday comes around. And gosh, I realize I probably shouldn’t be bringing this up now during our date, but I’d really like to know why. You are always  happily celebrating my birthday, but never your own. Why is that?”

_ Because with every birthday I feel like I’m losing more of myself. _

“I just don’t see the point in it.”

“But you see a point in mine?”

“Well, of course. Why wouldn’t I? I’d always see a point in a birthday for one of the most amazing people I know.”  He attempted to give her a smizing smile. She giggled a little, her cheeks turning a soft pink, before she shook her head and pointed accusingly across the table.

“Oh, no you don’t! Flattery will get you nowhere.” 

“It got me to talk you into dating me in college.” Something that he had honestly never expected would actually happen. Sure, they’d known each other since they were toddlers, and yes, he’d had a crush on her for the longest time. Yet even now, like back then, it all felt too good to be true.

“A girl never knocks down free food.” She said with the hint of a blush coloring her cheeks. It was a phrase she’d said back then too when he’d asked her if she wanted to go out to dinner with him. She blushed even more at the smile that slipped easily along his lips, and then they both shared a moment of laughter. 

It was only when they’d started laughing over the lame pickup lines Link had used back then that their food came. From there the dinner continued underneath the sound of laughter and her smile. The worries and stress from before, were quickly being forgotten underneath her presence. Even as they talked about their work, the closed case of Runa Lara, and his birthday celebration, the snake statue did not move for a second time. The hallucinations did not wreak havoc, and the pen in his pants pocket remained just that, a pen.

It was only when they’d finished their meal that Malon had shared her dislike for having finished the entirety of her meal. Link had quickly assured her that she was still as beautiful as she had been on the day they first met. She smiled again, and then suggested taking a midnight stroll in the nearby park. The very same park that Link had visited earlier that day.

“Are you sure? It’s supposed to get colder tonight.” Link said sheepishly as he placed two folded twenty dollar bills beside their stack of dirty plates. Malon only persisted, eager to lengthen their time together, and after a few minutes of arguing about the cold, Link relented.

He was reluctant at first as he placed a few dollar bills in-between their plates. He even went as far as folding them in tight squares, prolonging their stay in the restaurant. It was already bad enough that he’d had a fit of hallucinations encouraged by the statue of the snake near them, but to go back to that park where he’d seen that serpentine illusion? The very memory of that particular vision had his stomach all twisted in knots.


	7. PROPHECY?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where another overdose is discovered, and Link finally gets some answers, though they might not be the ones he wants to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, I was not expecting so much feedback, especially when I didn't post last month. I was busy last month and ran into a bit of standstill with this chapter. I will still be attempting a monthly update regardless though!
> 
> Thank you to all those who left comments and kudos, I really really appreciate it!
> 
> Also please note, this story will not be focusing on sex scenes. The scene that mentions it in this chapter is used to introduce the complicated relationship between the two characters. Additionally, the song recommendation (as I said I likely wouldn't be doing that anymore) is mentioned for the first two scenes to express specific thoughts and feelings with a character. Oh, right aaaaaand, this chapter has not been looked over by my lovely beta reader.

**SEVEN - PROPHECY**

_Song recommendation: Hurts Like Hell by OurVinyl_

* * *

An ocean of moonless night consumed her. Cosmical waves ripped precious air from her lungs, and the scalding sand from the shadows sought solace underneath her skin. Zelda struggled against it, against the current and the unnamed agony. Yet the abyss that buried her senses was far too great and far too strong. Its hold became tangible shackles around her wrists and ankles, and with each flail of her arms the shackles grew heavier and heavier.

**_The Hero…_ **

The voice rode along the waves of pain like freezing water vapor on the wind. It was drenched with lifelessness, devoid of sound yet louder than the silence that had encroached her.

**_The Prophecy… Legacy.. Omen.. the Hero._ **

It spoke the words over and over again until they were burned upon her skull. 

**_The day of life and death. The key. The Prophe-legac-death._ **

It drifted in and out of the abyss, words gradually colliding and tripping on themselves until it became a wretched symphony of static. The words no longer made sense, the syllables dancing into the noise while she continued to struggle against the chains. It was only as the chains pulled her backward that she suddenly realized that _this_ was a dream formed by premonitions. She recognized this, but the noise pressed against her, the waves pulled her under, and the chains bit into her wrists.

And then as a scream burned its way through her throat as the noise gathered higher and higher, she was pushed into dead air. The lack of turmoil that had enveloped her just moments ago left her feeling lost, stranded, and it forced her to her knees as noiselessness seeped in with the cold. It pricked her senses, and made her realize that dream or not, this agony was real. No, this _suffering_ was real.

“ **_Zel, it’s okay._ **”

A distant voice broke the brief quiet, and it ran along her spine in the form of tremors as her sky eyes were anchored to the darkness before her.

“ **_I’ll always come back._ **”

The sea of black that had stretched far and wide began to curl inward at the new voice. Its words broke the vile abyss and brought forth tendrils of light, like small sun rays peeking through a forest canopy. 

As the rays brushed over her, the scream that had threatened to spill from her lips melted into a sob, and it fell from her lips yet it made no sound. Unlike the voices from before, this one was familiar, and it was much more abscessed than any obnoxious voice that held divine weight. The sound of his smooth baritone, the way it reminded her of leaves dancing in the autumn winds, pulled at her heart strings that had snapped long ago. 

**_No matter what, I’m still_ ** **your** **_Link._ **

Somewhere among the black and the beams of light, Zelda saw the brief shift of movement. A figure, no, a silhouette that would always be ingrained in her memory. It drove her to stand, but her body was too wracked in pain and heavy from the pull of the chains. She crawled. Desperation drew her forward, her sobs drowning in quiescence. 

**_I’m still your Hero._ **

_No. No. No. No. Not again. Don’t, please!_

**_And no matter what happens, I’ll always protect you._ **

Her hands slipped on nothing, and she fell into the dark where the light did not touch.

**_I love you, Zelda._ **

**_Always._ **

* * *

Zelda snapped upright in a flurry of sweat and tears. Her fingers latched onto the blankets that surrounded her, onto the arm that reached for her, and she wrenched out the despair that had burrowed itself in her heart. The dream’s voice still fresh in her mind, as if it had been spoken right before her. 

“Zelda, it’s all right.” A voice grated along her sorrow. It sounded much deeper and much darker than the voice that seemed to haunt her dreams. Her grip tightened on the arm, the speaker’s hand resting firmly on her shoulder so as to help ground her. 

Her companion repeated the phrase, assuring her, and gradually her cries softened. With a shaking breath, she brought her other hand along to seek out the speaker’s other arm. She treated those large arms like a lifeline. Yet nothing was as grounding as those pools of molten amber that looked down at her. 

His eyes shone with both understanding and impatience, a look she was begrudgingly accustomed to in these situations. This hadn’t been the first time she’d woken up, woken them both, from a vision that had turned into a nightmare. A nightmare of which always, without fail, ended with _his_ words. Her companion had said before that it was likely due to their curse, how their powers were no longer effective or useful as they had been. Why her premonitions started out strong, then quickly became a mess of emotions, words, thoughts, and predictions. 

“Don’t tell me that you’d summoned me here before because of one of your dreams.” His voice led her to the here and now, and when her gaze met his she relented her grasp on him. “You always have the same dream that begins and ends the same no matter the state of this rotten world.”

“Don’t tell me what I am aware of, Ganon.” Zelda frowned as she promptly pulled the covers closer to her end so as to hide her naked torso from the cold air. “I summoned you then because I had a premonition of sorts outside of these-these _nightmares_.” Her scowl was short-lived as she down cast her gaze. She only brushed her eyes over the valleys and dips that carved along his chest before seeking refuge along the canyons formed on the heavy blankets. “And I thought it fair to involve you.”

“Though it warms my heart,” he said, earning a scoff from her, “to think that you thought of me in that regard, don’t bother involving me in your faulty visions, _princess_. I’ve already told you time and time again that the Hero is long gone. They will never allow him to reincarnate, and we will forever be trapped and left to rot in this world.”

His words were like heavy coals in her stomach. Though their conversation was lukewarm, unlike the day she’d called him to her library, she still felt the hesitance, the irritation, and the denial. Yes, they were cursed. Yes, the Hero had never returned. “But I-”

“Zelda, it’s been centuries. I have grown tired of this drivel. I thought we made an agreement to not speak of the Hero or anything involving that time while _in bed_.” The coals felt hot and they burned her from the inside out. 

Oh, if only her Hero could see them now. He’d likely keel over from disbelief or curse her name. Yet here she was sharing a bed with her enemy who had infiltrated her council. Sharing her warmth with the Calamity that had wreaked havoc and caused so much bloodshed for so many years. _He’d find me utterly repulsive_. Yet out of everyone in this world, only Ganon knew of her predicament. Out of everyone, only he shared her pain and her memories. Yes, he was a vile man, and she was sure he’d always be just that but loneliness was more than just the bitter cold in winter.

_Birds of a feather flock together._

“I loved and--I loved and I… lost him.” Her words were shattered glass. “And this-it hurts like hell. I can’t stand it.” Her companion lacked sympathy, she knew this well, but the words had to come out or the fire within her would consume her. 

“He’s _a_ _link to the past_ that has been utterly and irrevocably forgotten.” He spoke coolly despite the annoyance that her words likely brought, “dead, and dead he shall remain.” 

She clenched her jaw until they creaked under the pressure, and then pulled away from the comfort and warmth of both the covers and her companion. She’d almost rid herself of the mess of covers all together until Ganon’s left hand wrapped around her left wrist. It reminded her of the shackles in her dream, and she unintentionally shuddered.

Whether he saw her ghost of a tremble or not, Ganon pulled her back onto the bed and toward him. Her legs tripped over the mattress’s lip, and down she fell until her back met the stone wall of his chest. His arms snaked over her shoulders and around her chest in the form of a hug. Yet to her, in that moment, it felt like frigid chains digging into her breasts. His embrace locked her in place, and with the faintest of sighs he set his chin atop one of his arms.

“It’s just you and I, _princess_.” She bit her bottom lip at his words, the usual wave of hate that she would’ve felt for them having calmed long ago. “You and I.” Ganon’s voice fell into a whisper that seemed to drag on forever. 

They remained locked in embrace for what felt like hours before she felt one of Ganon’s hands seek out her hair. His fingers ghosted through the golden locks until they were tangled amidst the strands. Then without preamble he pulled, and her head was forced to lean back onto his shoulder. His hold forced her to remain locked in place and so her cobalt irises snapped to the side in search of his own. When she spied his ember eyes, a smirk fizzled across his jaw. His ember eyes pulled into slits, his red brows furrowed.

“I must admit that you roused me from a rather fruitful sleep.” She did not miss the deep lilt in his voice or how that smile of his turned edgier. The lips thinned as he slightly turned her head to the side so that they were now eye to eye. “I am unsure if I will be able to fall asleep at this rate.”

She’d once been appalled at his bedroom tactics. The way he spoke, the way he insinuated and instigated, had at one point disgusted her, but now she welcomed it as a distraction. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Oh, what a shame.” Zelda replied, struggling to fight off the despair that set her heart into a painful cadence. Her gaze narrowed as she traced his smile, and as he leaned closer to her face, she mimicked his smirk. “Shall I help you?”

The Calamity moved then with the speed of lightning, and she found herself on her stomach with his body draped across her back. His arms had snaked themselves to her front, one hand forcing her to arch against him as the other sought out a way to take her out on that offer.

* * *

Thursdays at the Faron City Police Department were oftentimes slow and uneventful, and at the start of Link’s shift, it had been just that. That is, until Groose from the General Crimes Unit had received a missing person’s report. It was quickly followed up with a call about that missing person having been found dead in Faron Park. Normally, the drug unit wouldn’t have been dispatched, but when the Faron police arrived on scene, they noticed the decayed appearance of the body. 

It was found partially sitting up on a park bench, its back arched and head resting on the bench’s armrest. Underneath it and along cherry colored wood of the bench was a partial sea of dried blood. Blood that glistened underneath the gaze of the bright lamps that surrounded the scene like silent spectators. Fluorescent lights that crawled along the body’s papery skin and had begun to consume the shadows that stretched across the park. It and the accompaniment of camera flashes dragged the skin’s color into a stony white, giving off the look of winter, and highlighted the saturation of decay. Each flash gave more life to the black ooze that had carved permanent trails along the skin of death. 

From the black ichor, blisters and peeled flesh took their fill along the expired meat. Giving off the appearance of skin turned inside out. Unlike Runa Lara’s body, its eyes were closed and obscured by heavy shadows that the lights and camera flashes could not hope to touch. Shadows that cut into the sockets, making the corpse appear eyeless. Yet not a single strand of darkness could hope to cover the mouth. A thin, black line that split across the lifeless face, it was closed shut. Remnants of a waterfall having colored it as well as the chin in lines of black.

Like with Runa Lara’s body, the stench wreaked havoc in the air. It smelled much worse than stagnant water and aged meat, a sign that it had devolved well into its decomposition. Regardless of its state, the smell bombarded Link’s senses, and left him fighting the urge to vomit what little he'd eaten.

“Revali Rito was last seen this past Tuesday,” the coroner droned, “but by the look of this decomp, that’s got to be near impossible. Sure, decomp can happen within seventy-two hours, but this level of breakdown with the cool temperatures...” Her gaze strayed away from the corpse and onto the small notepad in Link’s hand. He’d been flipping it open and closed absently, having only scribbled a few notes upon his arrival. 

“CCTVs?” It was Groose who’d posed the question, his hands tucked deep into his coat pockets as the bitter autumn wind brushed up beside them.

“There’s a gas station nearby that has a few cameras, but I doubt they caught anything useful.” The coroner supplied grimly. 

Link stifled a groan at that piece of Intel. Of course, nothing was ever _that_ easy. His partner seemed to agree as he gave a subtle shake of his head before drawing away from their small group. He’d only paused once by Link to grab his shoulder and pull him away. They’d only taken a few steps from Groose and the City coroner before Pipit relented Link’s shoulder and sought refuge against one of the concrete columns that formed the park's arched entry. 

Once his shoulders were pressed against the red brick, Pipit jerked his head in the direction of Rito’s body. “A body that has progressed decomposition with that nasty black goop is left in a _public_ park that has absolutely no CCTV coverage.”

Link nodded and flipped his notepad open once more, but his eyes were trained on the scene photographers as they set down evidentiary tags around the vicinity of the park bench. “The only difference is that there appear to be no immediate signs of struggle or… he glanced at the paper he’d opened to, “well, Runa Lara appeared to have scratched herself. Remember what her hands looked like?”

“I remember they were all janked up, yeah.” His partner cringed, “but you’re right, there’s really no apparent damage to the body itself. His limbs aren’t that crazy looking either. She looked like she'd been wrung through one of those awful _Exorcist_ movies. That ooze has got to be the same black stuff on Lara. If that’s the case then why didn't our guy freak out on it like she seemed to have done?"

"I allegedly saw signs of a needle. There weren't any on Runa Lara." Link replied. He watched one of Pipit's brows raise. "Yes, it's possible he injected it into himself."

"Maybe those are old marks. Do we know if he's a user?"

"No, I'm hoping his boss can tell us. They said they'd come in for an interview [questioning/interrogation] tomorrow. Hopefully they can provide us some answers because right now this looks like another simple OD."

"Fishy OD, but yeah. Can't go much without evidence and the evidence that we do have is that a drug was involved."

They both shared a sigh then, eyes casting to the grassy ground beneath them. It was then, underneath the pollution of death and onslaught of voice and camera clicks that Link's phone came to life. The ringtone was muffled, but as soon as it filled the space between Pipit and him, he recognized it. He gave a slight nod to his partner who grinned, and briskly walked along the short slip of path and into the street that teemed with blue and red lights, yellow tape, and Faron's nosy onlookers.

By the third ring he had his cellphone out. "Hey, Mal." Just saying her name brought him a sense of comfort that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. Her resounding chuckle even brought ease into his shoulders as he found his cruiser and leaned against it. "Sorry I left in a hurry. They found another body like Lara's, and since it might involve drugs, I got called to help out."

She made a sound of dismay before replying, _“Yeah, I heard a few minutes ago from Renado. I take it there’s a black substance on that body too?”_

Link’s gaze wandered to the yellow tape that had snaked around the entrance of the park; watched it rustle in the breeze as the night owls of Faron lingered alongside it like a shiver of sharks. Even underneath the assaulting lights from the responding vehicles, he could catch glimpses of cell phones and cameras, and at the sight of them he couldn’t help but shake his head. Without a doubt, if the tape ever did fall away, they’d rush to the crime scene without a care, hungry for drama and the minute fame of being the first to share the story of a missing Revali Rito found dead.

“Mm-hm, looks to be the same type of stuff, but… well…” his voice fell an octave, and he relayed his and Pipit’s discoveries. 

She only spoke up once he’d mentioned the signs of a needle, “Sounds like a simple OD then.”

He bit back a sigh. She was right, after all he and Pipit had come to the very same conclusion. Yet the sudden change of the body was something that he found concerning. Unlike Lara, Rito’s body was in decent condition despite both of them having drastic levels of decay. Another thing that bothered him, how could a drug be that quick in initiating decomp? Hell, how could a drug make someone bleed both red _and_ black liquids?

_It doesn’t make sense. This can’t be a simple overdose._

Yet the evidence all pointed to just that, drug usage having finally reached its limit. 

_“Link, can I suggest something? Why not request Lon Lon to look at the substance since they are initially focused on pharmaceuticals? They’re credible and have likely helped law enforcement from other prefectures before. Both my hospital and Renado are good at what they do, but Lon Lon may have better findings.”_

Lon Lon Industries… Link hummed in reply, his eyes drifting back to the onlookers that swam alongside the crime scene tape. Underneath the glow of the street lamps and the harsh pulse of the emergency responding lights, his eyes naturally grazed over them and focused on no one in particular, but then as Malon began to ask what was on the menu for tonight, his eyes locked onto a familiar face.

Like before, when he’d met the man in Valoo’s lobby, he felt a chilling sense of deja vu. A misplaced feeling of nostalgia that ate away at his senses until it was just him and the pale-faced man. A man that had unnaturally dark eyes and a pearly white smile that had Link’s blood run cold. He had to tear his eyes away, and when he finally did, reality clicked back into place. Yet that icy feeling clung to him, a feeling that he gradually started to realize was fear if it were not for the trembling in his hands. A fear that felt so foreign to him, as if the feeling was not truly his.

 _Skychild…_ Those vicious eyes of coal seemed to lock onto him, and that smile grew into a Cheshire-like grin. _You wouldn't dare forget about me, would you, Skychild?_

 _“Link…”_ His head snapped up, Malon’s voice pulling him back to some semblance of solid ground. _“Are you there?”_

He looked again despite the fear that gnawed its way inside of him, but the man with the black eyes, white hair, and wintry smile was nowhere amidst the scene’s nosy onlookers. Had he imagined that? Had that been like the hallucination with the snake?

_“Link?”_

He had already accepted the idea that he’d surely lost it after his pen turned into a sword of all things. It had even been proven when Malon had taken his _sword_ and _written out_ the week’s grocery list, the blade having suddenly become a pen as soon as she’d touched it. But now, _“Link!”_

The third call of his name from her lips anchored him yet again. His eyes were pulled away from the onlookers, attention wavering between his dwindling sanity and the body. "Yes, sorry, Lon Lon Industries you said? We may end up consulting them. It will depend on the results from a lab request though as I'm sure the chief will want to ensure that it is the same substance." 

Her response was akin to static in his ears as yet another thought cemented in his mind. "Mal," his voice fell with uncertainty. Unease drawing a long pause before him. "Have you ever heard of the Triune mythology?"

_"That's out of the blue, but sort of. I remember hearing about it in my mythology studies class, I think? If I'm remembering right, not much is known except that they were all about prophecies that focused on three chosen warriors that represented the three goddesses."_

Three chosen warriors… three goddesses… "Anything else? Why three?"

_"No, I don't think so, and maybe it's like the power of three? I don't know. Why the interest though? Was it mentioned or involved in the crime scene, or was the victim a believer?"_

"Just curious. One of the investigators had mentioned it this morning, and they knew about as much as you do from the sound of it. Anyways, I'll be home later than usual so don't stay up for me, get some rest. I'll talk to you soon."

As soon as he’d hung up, the sea of onlookers had shifted and pulled his attention toward them. Underneath the haze of lights, they parted in the wake of a newcomer. They stood a head taller than the rest, the blue lights adding an inhuman glow to their golden skin while the red glow of the emergency lights were eaten away by the long tresses that fell down their shoulders. Even from a distance, Link could see the new onlooker’s wide eyes as they settled in front of the yellow tape and drank in the cluster of cruisers.

“That’s Lanayru Spotlight’s head honcho, Nabooru Rise.” He nearly jumped from Pipit’s sudden appearance. The redhead had taken a post beside him, but Link hadn’t the slightest idea how long he’d been there. “Groose had contacted her a bit ago, didn’t think she’d show up right away.” His partner’s eyes were drawn to the tall journalist as he spoke, “Should we go ask her a few questions since she’s here?”

An impromptu interview wasn’t always ideal in an open and uncontrolled environment. Especially since there was no method of digital recording that could later be used for primary evidence. Not that Link personally believed this Rise person was to blame for her subordinate’s death. That and his notepad would be more than effective for evidentiary purposes, for now. Nevertheless, her statement would probably be too swayed by the scene before her.

Pipit didn’t wait for his reply. His partner drew away and closed in on the sea of sharks, only pausing once to catch sight of Link pulling away from their cruiser. When they closed in on the citizens that abided by the tape, their incessant noise overcame the static of the crime scene. Murmurs, notifications chimes, and sympathetic tears drowned out the camera clicks, lamp buzzes, and droning vehicles in an instant. Especially when the crime scene’s audience noticed the two investigators nearing them.

Like predators to prey, their noise took on a different tune,

“What happen-”

“I knew this was a bad part of town. I’ve been telling He-”

“Did Giovanni finally kick the buck-”

“Don’t tell me that’s Jerry, Jerry he… he said he was low-”

“Bet it was a homeless no-”

“Hey cop, what the hell-”

It was easier to ignore them. Much easier than it ever was for Link to ignore the stench of death.

Nabooru Rise’s eyes did not move from the cluster of cruisers that partially blocked the bench from view. Even as Pipit stopped before her. Either she was too tall and he too short to notice him, or she was too caught up in the truth that her coworker had passed. Link figured it was the latter judging by the worrying of her lips and the way she clenched and unclenched her hands. 

“Miss Rise,” Pipit’s voice barely reached above the noise around them, but her large, sandy eyes snapped to him nonetheless. The tension continued to press against her, fingers curled into tight fists, and with a lick to her lips, she replied, “Yes?”

His partner went through a handful of questions, all of which faded into the peppering of questions from the citizens that lingered around Nabooru. Pipit seemed to be able to hear her, but for Link, he couldn’t even hear the elderly man with the flowing beard demanding his name. No, all he could think was _how familiar she looked_.

It was nostalgic, that molten gaze framed by brows that gave away the emotion that her lips and eyes refused to show. Her voice too, it beckoned memories that didn’t exist to the forefront of his mind. Memories of which he _felt_ , but could not _see_. There was pain, a deep sorrowful pit that held no end. There was also warmth, a blossoming heat that was close to catching his skin alight with flame. 

For a moment, he wasn’t sure _why_ or _what_ those feelings were, but as he watched her lips move soundlessly, he knew. 

_Loss and friendship._

It was so unlike the feeling he’d had upon seeing the man with the pale face, Ghirahim, at the hospital. Despite that, it was yet another thing that made no sense. He shouldn’t be feeling this. She, like the man, didn’t look familiar to him in the slightest. In fact, he’d never seen her until now.

“Have we met before?”

He spoke up suddenly, frustration coloring his tone as it reached above the noise. First the misplaced familiarity, the sense of deja vu, and then a pen that turned into a sword. Yet another thing to add to his list of crazy. Yet another thing that didn’t make sense. 

She turned to him, her glacier sharp chin turning up as she assessed him. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen you _kid_.”

_Right, of course not._

* * *

It was nearing four in the morning when Malon heard the front door creak open followed by sluggish footsteps. As usual, she’d tried her best to stay up late into the night to wait for him. An attempt that had quickly ended into her crawling into bed and falling asleep. She’d juggled the idea of getting up, already knowing how any bit of conversation with him would go after such a long shift. The sound of the bedroom door creaking open roused her, nullified her idea. With one more glance to the clock atop the nightstand, she sat up from the warmth of the bed, and searched for him against the dark of the room. 

She caught him peeling off his sweater by the dresser, his silhouette accented by the red haze from the clock. He stumbled over the lip of his jeans before he sought out the warmth of their bed. Only then as he took to his side did his eyes meet hers. The clock’s face reflected the time in those blue depths.

“Did I wake you?” His voice brushed over her as he eased into the bed. The mattress groaned underneath the added weight, and as soon as he lifted the covers, Malon felt a chill dash along the warmth from the blankets.

His gaze ran over her, catching her small fit of trembles. Even underneath the guise of darkness she saw a brief smile slip across his face, and within seconds he had his arms wrapped around her, smothering her in his own warmth. “Sorry, paperwork and waiting on the ambulance took a little longer than I would like to admit.”

She nuzzled into him, her head hiding underneath his chin as she felt him pull up the covers with a freehand. Instantly, the cold was chased away. 

“When do you have to go back in?” Her voice was muffled against his skin.

She felt his sigh brush the top of her head as he sullenly replied, “Four hours. We had an impromptu interview with the deceased’s boss a few hours ago, and are scheduling an official one early this morning.” She drew back at this news, sensing both his fatigue and frustration. 

With hands on either side of his shoulders, she peered up at him, a question riding on her tongue. Yet, as always, his eyes were more telling than his words would ever be. He didn’t want to talk any further about work or the body in the park. As if to prove her point, he pulled away from her and rested against his pillow, but she followed him. Despite his clear desire to end any further conversation, she readied another question, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

“Must be nice to fall asleep at the blink of an eye,” she mused aloud. It didn’t surprise her though considering his increasing bouts of insomnia. That and the nightmares had seemed to grow more frequent and more intense. Well, he’d never quite admitted he’d slept less and less, and he’d definitely not expressed the increasing terror in his nightmares. She’d discovered that on her own countless times after having been woken up by him tossing and turning or, on occasion, screaming.

Without a doubt, it was concerning, but she knew better than to bring it to their attention. Even if it was obvious, he would most definitely shrug it off or deny it. A stubborn trait of his. 

It didn’t change anything though as he’d always been plagued with spells of insomnia accompanied by the occasional nightmare. Yet it was never quite as bad as it was now. What was triggering it? Work? She had noticed a significant change in his demeanor ever since he’d acquired a job in law enforcement. It didn’t make sense though as it wasn’t every day that he’d deal with a dead body or case. 

_The war on drugs though… that’s never ending. Maybe that--no._ She shook her head. Sure, that type of war seemed never-ending, but it definitely wasn't the cause for Link's distress.

Malone huffed, frustration keeping the remaining sleep at bay as she tugged at any possible answers. Answers of which were few and far between. The painstaking battle, despite it not possibly being Link's trigger, seemed the most plausible. 

In fact, it was only as she finally rested her head against her own pillow that an alternative possibility. It came to her as soon as she heard it be muttered sleepily from Link's own lips.

"Triune?"

He'd slurred the word, and although a snore had gnawed away at the syllables, she'd heard him loud and clear. The Triune… he'd asked her about it out of the blue, hadn't he? Sure, he'd said it had been brought up and he was curious, but it had still all seemed strange. Why show sudden interest in a mythological religion while dealing with a strange overdose? He wasn't one to get distracted like that, to go chasing bunny trails. Especially during an ongoing investigation. So then, did it hold any significance?

_Or am I just grasping at straws here?_

She worried her lip for a moment before finally swiping her phone off the nightstand by the clock. Yet a quick search of the Triune religion turned up little to no results. It could only mean that yes, she was definitely grasping at straws.

* * *

A field of tall grass, yellowed from the cold season, stretched on before Link. The sky overhead an endless cloud of white as it blanketed the ground beneath him in a foot of snow. Snow that was soundless as he took a cautious step forward, the absent whispering crackles of ice making him wonder if this dream was one of silence. 

“This is a dream… right?” He tested his voice, and it resounded loud and clear across the field. Each syllable prompted a puff of air that faded away into the falling snow. The fog from his own words drew him to latch onto another discovery, despite the thick veil of snow it was neither cold nor warm. Both that, accompanied by the droning silence that could only be interrupted by his words, made him wary.

It seemed even at exhaustion he could not hide away from these dreams. Though this one was new. Sure, he’d had plenty that involved a field, but this one did not stretch on endlessly. That and nothing disrupted the ground at his feet or the white snowflakes that twirled around him. Even as he closed his eyes only to reopen them again, the scenery remained.

The other striking difference that went against his normal dream state's routine was the large white castle that reached far into the heavens above. It stood before him with a shadow-less body, and its white facade nearly blended into the winter. It devoured the horizon, stone pillars, towers, and curved roofs stretching over the field before him. Yet as he dared a few steps forward, it seemed to be forever out of his reach. 

“You are not meant for that life.” Link stopped mid-step, his whole body shuddering at the hollow voice that curled around him from behind. Despite its sound, it reminded him of the stench of death. A voice that was as long as it was deep, eternal and devoid of both color and sound. Yet each syllable was accompanied by a second and then a third voice, but when he sharply turned on his heel to face the speaker, it was only a single person.

No, not a person, but an abomination. A skeletal body stood within arm’s reach, its armor black and rusted underneath the gaze of time. Like in his incessant nightmares, its skull was carved from the shadows. A single eye socket resonated, glowed with the color of blood, while the second eye socket appeared as a bottomless pit. The sight of that single eye alone urged Link to draw a step back, and as he did a crackling whisper of his boot atop snow erupted between them.

“For you must know loss, betrayal, hunger, poverty, and you will get none of that within such immaculate walls.” The jaws of the skull did not move as it spoke, and as Link took another step backward, it did not follow. “A true Hero must know pain and fear so that he may better wield his sword.”

His dreams never did make sense to him, and this one was no different. Yet they all seemed to revolve around a “hero” and, since he’d been given the shape shifting pen, their sword. That or a supposed memory if he wanted to believe that gut wrenching sense of nostalgia that always rode alongside the fear that these dreams seemed to dredge up. 

“Who are you?” Link demanded, but his voice shook with wariness. These dreams never ended well, and he was confident this one would end just as the rest, a nightmare that would burn itself into his memory.

“A _shade_ , a remnant of time.”

 _It… replied?_ He’d honestly expected it to lunge forward with its sword in-hand. That or have the scenery change and propel him into some form of horror. “Do you-do you have a name?”

It fell into a spell of silence, and the longer it stared at Link with that single red eye, the more Link fidgeted until he finally averted his gaze. Only then as his eyes focused on the snow at their feet did it reply again. “I bear a sullied name of the past.”

Was it going to continue with these cryptic answers? “Okay… why am I here then? What is this?” He gestured around them, his gaze only going as far as to the skeleton’s breastplate. It looked to have once been a dark bronze based off the trim, and the longer he stared, the more he saw the faded etchings of a winged bird splayed outward. The symbol itself looked familiar, but the familiarity could neither be placed nor named.

“Here in this realm, in this time, or here in a piece of memory from a time long gone?” 

Link’s jaw clenched. Again with the cryptic nonsense? “You keep referring to time, why? Is there supposed to be some great significance?”

“Why would I not? Time is the reason for our existence.” The skeleton finally moved, raising its hand with the palm opened to the skies above. A series of cracks and groans from both bones and rusted armor enveloped the field for the breadth of a second before it continued. “Without time, we would not exist. If we do not exist then the world as we know it would perish. To think that even that has been taken away from you… you remember nothing, it seems.”

“Remember _what_?”

“Everything. The prophecy that has been passed along our lineage, the power that has coursed through our very veins, and the blade that has remained at our side. You remember nothing, but perhaps it's to be expected. After all, our existence, our legacy, was removed from the flow of time. Ever since the blade fell from your hands, the Hero of Time has ceased to exist. And yet, after centuries… you've been reborn and you are here."

For once the skeleton's words didn't sound so obscure. Especially when he recalled the mythology book with the missing pages or the old woman he'd met before almost being run over. "What is this prophecy that you're talking about? And this power, does it have something to do with the Triune religion?"

Link was too caught up in the skeletal being before him to take note of the change in scenery around them. The snow at their feet had gradually melted until the ground beneath them was consumed by water. Water that had gradually begun to darken with black ichor. The castle at Link's back became saturated in white until it vanished, leaving behind a colorless void. 

"The prophecy itself has many interpretations; however, they all have one thing in common. When Hyrule falls into ruin, a man garbed in green and bearing a courageous heart will appear with the sword of evil's bane. With the aid of the goddesses, he will bring balance and peace to the land." Its bony hand returned to its side with a series of groans from both aged joints and rusted armor. "It varies upon the ruin that befalls Hyrule, but it is all one and the same. For instance, some translations refer to when the Great Calamity is unleashed while others refer to a general rise of malevolence. As for 'Triune,' I know not of that word, but I can only presume that you are referring to the goddesses who have turned their backs on the land."

"The goddesses-" That same gut wrenching sense of nostalgia curdled in his stomach.

"Nayru of Wisdom, Farore of Courage, and Din of Power, yes.”

The sound of sloshing water pulled Link out of his thoughts, his gaze drinking in the sudden absence of snow and the ice covered field. It urged him to take another step back as unease trickled along his senses. It was only as he heard the sound of water sloshing again did he realize that the undead creature before him was drawing closer to him, its heavy boots breaking the black waters at their feet in large ripples. 

“Though this world remains precariously balanced, it cannot withstand the weight of time if you fall once again.” The white abyss that had surrounded them was fading away into blackness. “The legacy of the Hero of Time has been reborn after all these centuries. Whether it be from the goddesses’ bidding or for an oncoming ruin, I do not know. But child, you must pick up your blade once more _before it is too late_.”

As darkness corroded his vision, and ate away the white abyss that surrounded them. A blackness that reflected along the water at their feet, leaving only the single red eye visible, he felt bony tendrils curl around his shoulder. The grip was heavy, aided by armor, and the fingers dug sharply into him. Yet Link did not flinch from the skeleton's grip. He did not even register its skeletal hand as he felt his shoulder grow numb from the pressure. No, he was too lost in drowning in that gaping hole of red. Struggling far too much against the hollow voice that had slithered its way inside his thoughts, silencing all other sound.

**_You must regain what you have lost, or you will soon perish._ **


	8. FOREBODING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Ghirahim seeks out an artifact for Ganon, and Link falls deeper into insanity.
> 
> Note that the section that involves Ghirahim is Thursday night, and the start of Link's section opens up into Friday.
> 
> I tried my best to whip this out (without my betareader again, she's been a busy bee!) through work, classes, and stress. Here's hoping I didn't lose my touch! As always, thank you for the comments and kudos! I really enjoy reading your thoughts <3

**EIGHT - FOREBODING**

Lon Lon Industries' head of security was both the most boring as well as the most pleasurable job Ghirahim had ever been blessed with by his master. Though he knew well that the immortal vessel of Calamity never had his best interests at heart, it was he who was chosen to take on the security detail and all the shadows and metaphorical dirt that came along with it. Not that there were many options. Past lives and current immortality had made Ganon distrust many, but who could ever distrust their blade, their right-hand man who'd been there since the very beginning?

Granted, Ghirahim was stuck with the man. True, he didn't bear the same powers as his master, that royal _wench_ , and the curse that came along with it. Yet he did bear the troubles of immortality, to a degree. Like with both Ganon and Zelda, time would never harm him. Instead it would wash over his back like the burning water overhead. It would brush over his skin, barely even scald the pale flesh despite the intense heat, and mix with the blood and the dirt until there was nothing left but remnants of grime clinging to the edges of the drain.

 _Time…_ how ironic that time was now the one and only enemy that stood before him, forever there and yet forever out of reach.

He shifted and the water drowned him of sight and hearing until he shut off the showerhead. Within seconds the burning heat of the shower dispersed, allowing the cold to settle in over the teal accented bathroom. It coaxed in a thick curtain of mist, yet the mirrors still picked him out amongst the aftermath of the shower. His blurred reflection stuck out like a sore thumb even on the wet surface. A smear of white accompanied by a prominent, black circle on his chest. 

The circle, his core, was visible proof of both his devotion and his contract to his master. It had been the sign that most possessed blades such as himself wielded in a time that had long since been forgotten. That as well as a sign or origin of his power though even that… Yes, that was likely the one and only thing that his master’s curse had restrained. Ever since the Hero of Time, the only mortal he’d ever had the pleasure of calling an arch enemy, had perished along with his legacy, the core at the center of Ghirahim’s chest had ceased in its glorious, crimson glow. In fact, the core itself, once having taken on the visage of a brilliant crystal that looked to have been woven into his bare skin, was colored with a vile black that was far worse than the black ichor that had coated his fingers moments before. The black of the core was unable to pick up the gaze of light, forever dull and silent as the dead’s eyes.

He pulled his gaze away from it, from the fuzzy, blurred image of the black diamond that struggled to take form in the clouded mirror. Instead he turned his attention to the pile of soiled clothes that he’d discarded at the center of the linoleum floor. There was already a ring of blood and black ink forming underneath and around the clothing, and the after scent of shampoo and body wash seemed to have done little to subdue the stench of death. Still, death was a much preferred scent over whatever flowery garbage he’d just used to rid his body of the remnants of the journalist.

Relenting little more than a sigh, Ghirahim chucked the clothes into the bathtub, stopped the drain, and let loose a torrent of cold water. He’d only managed to snag the bottle of hydrogen peroxide underneath the sink when his cellphone rang. The curt ringtone bounced off the walls and drew his brows together. Yet as he stood to peer above the counter, spotting his wondrous master’s name flash in bold, white letters, he couldn’t help but let loose a devilish grin of excitement.

The call had barely reached the second ring when he’d answered, hearing at first a spell of silence, and then what he was sure sounded like a grunt of _approval_. 

**_“Excellent job, though I would not recommend going so public next time.”_ **

Oh, so there would be a next time then? Brilliant. Experimenting with the drug _had_ been fun, even if it was messy, and after both seeing and hearing his master’s enjoyment and hint at a plan, his grin turned darker, wider. It split his face into vile proportions, lips peeling back to show off unnaturally bone-white teeth that could very well be fangs.

**_“Now, about the mirror…”_ **

He’d finished scrubbing at the clothing, his fingers raw from the residual drug and chemicals, by the time Ganon had passed along his next list of instructions.

 _If the Hero really has returned as our princess claims then he may be the key to end this wretched curse. Now, I imagine he has been blessed with his uncanny courage and the like. Knowing the goddesses, he may somehow have retained memories from past lives, like the princess and I have. Regardless, no matter what, I am more than certain that he will react in different ways when in contact with the mirror than from what we've grown accustomed to seeing. Same goes for whatever the mirror touches. It shall not harm us due to our origins so go to the warehouse and_ carefully _take a fragment of the mirror. Though I am certain and right, as I often am, we should still test it on another. They should react negatively, perhaps even show similar signs to those who have taken the opioid._

He'd only heard snippets of history from Ganon when it came to the mirror, an artifact that had been forged long before the Triune had ever considered their chosen heroes. One that was made from wretched darkness more sinister and blacker than the dark that had forged Calamity. What was it his master had called it… Twilight? Yes, that sounded right.

Leaving his clothes to air out along the edge of the tub, the pale man slipped into a loose pair of jeans and a simple collared shirt of vibrant red before heading out the door with a skip to his step. The smile that had forged along his face had yet to settle, and the closer he got to fulfilling his master’s orders, the more twisted the smile became. Though for once it wasn’t because of his simple desire to please his master. No, for once he was feeling giddy, ecstatic because this would mean that they would be one step closer to finding their long lost Hero. That is, if the man, the myth, the legend had indeed returned to this world.

It would almost be too good to be true…

But Ghirahim wasn’t one to ever dwell on such depressing thoughts. Especially when it involved the Hero. Even now, as time had brushed past him, Ghirahim had yet to meet someone he’d deemed worthy of dying by his blade. Well, there was more to it than that. No one had that _gaze_ , no one held themselves with such courage no matter how far they had fallen, like the Hero of Time had. His skilled swordsmanship was a definite plus too, almost up to par with Ganon himself. 

_It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to enjoy running my blade through skin and muscle alike._

The drive to the warehouse was relatively long, at least half an hour’s drive from his flat, thanks to the city’s rush hour traffic. The building itself was nestled within the projects near the outskirts of Faron, partially sitting on the city line of Ordona. A place where poverty was much more prominent, holding a certain stench along the dirty streets and abandoned storefronts. Originally, the warehouse had been surrounded by a buzz of activity. A few crimes and solicitation here, a murder or two there, and slowly but surely the business and neighborhood that surrounded the warehouse had dwindled away into nothing but broken glass and empty streets. So much so that the vacant buildings mimicked that of a ghost town, shadows and remnants of past lives still lingering in the guise of debris and litter that flitted along the street as Ghirahim peeled into the one-way.

He’d barely caught sight of the two-story warehouse when he felt _it_. A cool, slithering sensation that wove in-between his vertebrae like a slimy snake. It wrenched a shudder from him, pulling his teeth against one another as his foot spasmed against the accelerator. The sensation was exhilarating as it pushed against him, running over him like the water from the showerhead. Abrupt and violent, somewhat comforting, and incredibly harsh to the point where it burned. It set his nerves alight, tickling his thoughts with giddy malevolence, and punctured him with a burst of heat that seemed to dig through his crystal with invisible hands. 

Its grip, its twisted sensations that filled his mind with carnage, seas of blood, and towers of the dead, felt eternal. As if it had been with him since the beginning, but as its malevolent intent melded with his own, it was gone.

Or at least it had settled, reeling its darkness back into a swarm of whitenoise that bit at the back of his eyes. Only when he drew closer, eyes catching along the dark windows of the warehouse, did the whitenoise drip down onto his chest. It gouged a place for itself there, remnants of that puncturing heat urging him to pull at his collar and check the state of his core. The obsidian crystal was as dull as ever, devoid of all life and sensation except for that distant burn, a faint yearning.

**_Come see the ruin and power only I can provide._ **

Peculiar, especially when the sting persisted as he grew closer. 

His master, as he often was, seemed to be right that the mirror wouldn’t influence them. At least not enough to make them lose their sanity. However, if he could feel it without even seeing it in person then how would the Hero react? And could _any_ mortal feel that bittersweet pull of darkness like he could?

* * *

Metal rafters akin to bones seemed to be the only fixture that was intact within the ribcage of the warehouse. They criss-crossed over one another and ran along the far corners of the walls. Walls which were caked in aged dust, the once gray paint peeled and frayed like flaking skin while the floor stretched onward, cloaked in tall, yawning shadows. Metal shelves sought refuge there, all bearing a look of rust as they stood tall enough to where they almost touched the ceiling. Boxes, bottles, and large totes were stacked on the shelves, along the floor, in every crevice possible. 

Towers of boxes surpassed the shelves in height, taking up most of the floor space, while many of the totes were left open, a myriad of textiles strewn about. There was no rhyme or reason to the clutter, and it seemed to only get worse as Ghirahim went deeper into the warehouse. Yet the clutter didn’t bother him. Not as he felt the pull at his core or the buzz that continued to run along his nerves.

At the back of the warehouse sat a single, narrow door. Its paint looked fresh, untouched by age and dust, but as Ghirahim turned the knob, it gave a heavy groan. He’d barely opened the door all the way, his boot ready to cross the threshold, when he was met face-to-face with the barrel of a rifle. It didn’t deter him though. 

As soon as the barrel waved in his face, Ghirahim swatted it away. It quickly withdrew then, pointing upward. “Sorry, sir. The cameras have been down for the past week, and we were not aware that you were coming here.” The gunner, a man who far surpassed ghirahim in height, quickly stepped back to the side. 

“Ah, Ghira, about time you show your pasty ass.” The sniggering comment drew Ghirahim’s gaze away from the man with the unfamiliar face to meet none other than Vaati. Though Ghirahim’s skin was as white as winter, Vaati’s was likely as white as fresh death. It held more pigments, darker shades of grays and lighter pinks, that seemed to match his dyed purple hair. Though the hair was never quite as jarring as his features. His jawline was more rounded, chin sharp and triangular, and his eyes stretched along chiseled cheekbones that held a hollowness of a skull without skin. 

Where Ghirahim was over security, Vaati was over finance. A strange role considering what his past life had involved, according to Ganon. Which begged the question, _why_ was he _here_ and not back at Lon Lon? 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? You don’t normally make your way down here this late… unless…”

“Just here to take a look at the mirror.” Ghirahim replied. 

At the mention of the mirror, Vaati raised a brow. Although it wasn’t necessarily rare for Ghirahim to come down to one of the warehouses, but to have come here just for the dusty, old mirror? Well, it wasn’t just any normal mirror. He at least knew that much. The mirror itself was most definitely haunted, perhaps even possessed, but what did Ganon want with it anyway? True, he had a weird fascination with “Triune” trinkets, but this… the mirror was dangerous. 

“Oh, and the merch too?” Vaati asked.

“Not right now. I still have the last shipment of merch at Lon.” Ghirahim’s gaze wandered off to the two screens that were plastered along a portion of the wall. Both of them were displayed in a gridview, each grid displayed a camera’s view except for the last row which flickered on a solid blue screen. 

Past the screens was a line of metallic countertops, their surfaces cluttered with digital scales, series of pipes and plastic baggies, empty syringes, and a pile of what looked to be used gloves. There were three others that lingered in the room, working quietly with the paraphernalia while passing brief glances to the warehouse’s guest. 

With a wave of his hand, Vaati led the way into a narrow hallway that split into two more hallways. They took the left that opened up into a much larger, longer room that was dressed with shelves and bright lighting. Each shelf housed a rectangular pot, a cluster of plants spilling out from each one. Most of the plants looked familiar, despite the strong, skunk stench giving them away, but as they walked down the line of weed, both the stench and color seemed to change.

The change was gradual at first, so much so that Ghirahim didn’t notice it until they passed a pot of blackened weed. He stopped then, eyes narrowed as he moved toward it only to find others much like it.

“It’s been happening a lot lately. Once they start taking on that color, they’re useless. And it _spreads_. We tried moving that damn mirror back to prevent this blight from spreading, but it hasn’t helped.” As if to prove the warehouse’s struggle in the production of medicinal plants, Vaati stuck to Ghirahim’s side and brushed a finger over one of the many blackened stems. The plant as well as its neighboring plants crumbled into ash at their feet.

“This is the mirror’s doing?”

“What else could it be?”

“Have you had anyone consume these plants, test the effects? Sure, the scent,” Ghirahim sniffed, “isn’t as strong as it was when we first walked in, but surely these aren’t all ruined. That would be devastating. I’m sure this hasn’t affected us financially yet, but neither I nor the queen’s bed will be able to calm _his_ rage once he finds out about this.” He turned his head to meet vaati’s gaze, a grin slitting across his face. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Already seeing financial slack.”

“As always, I have a strong desire to paint the wall with your blood. Of course that’s why I’m here.”

“Then get yourself a guinea pig and test the effects. If it’s like the opioid then perhaps we could fix that little bit of slack.”

“Didn’t I hear you say that the opioid is deadly?”

“The addictive high is worth the risk. Either way, if you don’t, I will.” Ghirahim said as he moved away from the blackened plants, taking the lead toward the door.

“On who?”

Each step that led to the door felt heavier and heavier. A feeling that counteracted with the pleasurable chill that coiled around him. It was accompanied by the faintest of whispers, something foriegn and wrong yet welcoming all the same.

**_Come and bask in the darkness._ **

At the very command, he felt his core burn with a scorching heat. It forced him to draw a hand, covering his chest, but not even a single bit of warmth met his palm. Still the absent fire that licked along the core persisted, and with it came the beckoning pull. It was much stronger now, acting as a pressure that pushed along his backside. Invisible hands that pulled his own hands away from his chest and over the door knob. 

The door opened in dead silence, and the thick shadows that met them seemed to only encourage the pull. If it wasn’t for the fact that he felt a familiarity with the pull, if it wasn’t for the rise in his core of which he hadn’t felt in centuries, he likely would have been scared. It would have been a first. Still, knowing that this mirror was this attuned to darkness was electrifying. He couldn’t help the smile that climbed its way along his lips once again, his eyes squinting against the black.

The room before them was much smaller than the others, perhaps the size of the entryway cut in half. Though that could have been because it was crowded on one side with both wooden and metallic crates. At one point in time the crates had taken up the expanse of the floorspace, but once they’d acquired Ganon’s new fancy, they’d had to make room as well as try to keep the goods from being contaminated. A meaningless attempt if the blackened plants had anything to say about it. 

Vaati flipped a switch somewhere behind Ghirahim as he went deeper into the room. Only stopping to glance at the floor when his boots _sloshed_. 

“Damn, lights aren’t work-holy shit!” Vaati abruptly took a step back into the threshold, his voice ricocheting loudly within the confines of the room.

Much of the floor was covered in a large, soupy, black puddle. At least, that was the only way it could be described. Tendrils, no longer than Ghirahim’s thumb, stretched out in jagged spirals from the edges of the puddle. Thin like veins that seemed to be buried into the floor, that pulsed underneath the glow of the light that spilled from the room full of plants. 

He lifted a foot and felt the slightest resistance. The liquid clung to the bottom of his foot, and when it came away it reminded him of crusted flesh from a sunburn. It relinquished his boot soundlessly, and though they were partially in the dark, he was stunned to find that it hadn’t left any residue behind. 

“Is this the mirror’s doing?” Vaati asked from the doorway, his face scrunched up in disgust as he watched the pale man continue toward the far corner of the room. His boots sloshed along the strange fluid despite its consistency.

If Ghirahim heard him, he made no sign as he followed the length of the fluid until he reached what looked to be a circular object hung on the wall. Its form was obscured by a tarp. A tarp of which was dripping black ink. It was then as he grabbed the ends of the tarp, unfazed by the colored water that began to taint his hands, that both the burn and pull loomed. The sensations dug into his conscience, forcing all will and thought to the side, and it drew him to pause for the fraction of a second before removing the covering in one motion. 

The mirror, with its smooth, obsidian face and intricately woven runes of pulsating crimson, rippled as the tarp fell away. Its edges dripped with the black ooze, and as it took on his reflection, the shifting darkness behind its glass fell silent.

And then, as soon as the mirror’s influence had increased, as soon as his eyes met a distorted reflection splayed out across dead black glass, it stopped. In an instant, its hungry, gravitating pull left him. Its abruptness was both alarming and unsettling as it brought forth a wave of despair and hunger. Though over and for what, he wasn’t quite sure, and that in itself frightened him.

Again, fear wasn’t something he was familiar with and just by recognizing it, he couldn’t help but let a giggle slip through sneering lips. To think that _he_ , Ghirahim the Demon Lord, was _scared_? This, the fear, wasn’t just electrifying, it was scintillating, impassioned, divine. His giggle sputtered into maniacal laughter.

It was _perfect_.

* * *

Numbness was something Link had grown accustomed to; however, this empty feeling was colder than winter and heavier than heartbreak and dread stacked on top of one another. His throat closed under the pressure of it, his voice drowning in the absence and silence that it brought along with it, and for once in his dreams, he sought for an anchor on the nightmarish creature before him. He’d done so many times before in past nightmares out of fear. Out of an attempt to stop the blade that had always wreaked havoc in his dreams from becoming intimate with his throat. Yet now he grabbed at the skeletal wrist in hopes to ground himself as the dead shade’s words hung lost in the air. They had vibrated along his bones, jarring his teeth, but as soon as the words had been spoken, he’d lost them against the cold that enveloped the dreamscape.

“What-what did you say?”

That single red eye was all that he could see through the pitch black that had taken over. A steady red that stayed as still as his heart surely was right now because those words… _I had felt fear at his words just then, I’m sure of it._

Why?

**_You must regain what you have lost, or you will soon perish._ **

His fingers tightened along the skeletal appendage at his shoulder, slipping along the shivering bone as it quivered with the shade’s next words.

“You are not ready, but I must warn you. There will always be semblances of evil in this world, shadows under our feet and venom on our tongues, but there will come a time when this world is so wrought with shadows that she too, much like you, will perish. It will begin with war, followed by plague and famine, and from the battlefield, death will reign.”

“And though my words may fall far from your belief, _you_ are the only one who can stop it. Because, child, to save this world, the people will need a Hero, you.”

Hero, _Hero_ , **_Hero_ **. 

There it was again, that awful word that set his nerves on fire. It burnt away the numbness, the emptiness that clung to him, and it urged his other hand to seek out the arm he’d anchored himself to. It licked along his skin, the fire infuriating him so that when he found his voice, he nearly screamed. “Why me? I’m just some drug investigator, an officer. I’m not some fated hero!”

Link’s voice trembled along the dark void that stretched beyond them, and if it disturbed the shade, the shade made no sign. Instead it remained, unmoving and mute. Then, slowly and with the heaviest sigh, “Your heart and soul, body and mind, are branded by destiny. You cannot escape your purpose. You are and will always be a Hero for the people. A Hero who is valiant and courageous, selfless and considerate.”

“What? You make it sound like I’m some kind of tool, a plaything!”

That red eye seemed to brighten, to pulse with a heartbeat. “A tool? Plaything? Blasphemy. Do you believe yourself to be that insignificant, that unworthy? _You_ are _nothing_ of the sort. Though you are a child, a human, this is true, but your heart, your soul, they are brighter and purer than any other. Only you can be the Hero, the one that both the people and this world need.”

 _Pure?_ Link scoffed, shook his head with a vengeance. 

“You question and look down on yourself too much, whether that be from past experiences or from insecurities, but I assure you that _you_ are worthy. That and whether you like it or not, you are the Hero of Time. The one who shall take blade in-hand and wield it with Farore’s Courage, just as I and those before you have done time and time again.”

“And if I don’t? If I fail? If I refuse!”

“Then, like you, everything around you, everything you love and cherish, will wither away into darkness. Now, face it. You need to face your demons, Hero. Whether you like it or not, you are the Hero that we want. The Hero that we need."

The shade withdrew, relinquishing their grasp and drawing their presence away from him, but his hands were still wrapped like snakes around the bony arm. It gently tugged its arm away, and yet Link persisted. His fingers tightened. His gaze narrowed, brows furrowing, but when he opened his mouth to retaliate, to question, or to argue, nothing but silence fell from his lips.

What did he want to say? That this was a dream, even if it all felt so real? Even if it tickled some form of nostalgia that lingered in the back of his mind? That _he_ was not and would never be a _hero_? That having those who depended on him, who looked up to him, scared him? Because if he failed, what then?

_You can’t be everywhere, Link. You can’t save everyone._

His whole body spasmed at the ethereal voice that ran over his heart, Malon’s words akin to fingers over the strings of a harp. Yes, she’d said that to him the day he’d failed to save a life. Again when he’d had to use his firearm to shoot to kill. The lives then and the lives that followed and ended before him always required the accompanied assurance, but the weight of a human being dying in his arms always unnerved him. It was almost as if their blood had fused with his skin. Their last words, last gaze, ingrained in his memory.

And what about failure? The dreams had a knack for taking everything he'd built and burning it until not even ashes remained. Always showing him what he could not do and who he could not save. Even going as far as to show the dead that he would come across in his line of work the next day. And the dreams with Malon…

"I can't-I'm not…" his voice had fallen into a whisper.

The shade pulled its arm free, armor groaning from the movement. When it next spoke, its voice matched his own. So much so that he almost thought that he'd said it aloud.

"You can, and you are."

* * *

With barely three hours of sleep, Link sat up along the side of the bed and ran a hand over his face. For once he’d woken up normally, the dream having ended on a decent yet confusing note. It was a nice change of pace, but the voice, the warning, from the shade was akin to ants on his skin. He remembered every word, could recite it like the FPCD’s oath. It had been the first time in a long while that he hadn’t woken up with a start or in cold sweat, but he still felt the fear, the grating nostalgia, and the anger from the dreamscape pushing against him.

Fear because those words, they made sense. They felt real somehow. As if he’d heard them before or had known them to be true all along. Nostalgia because it felt deathly familiar, as if the voice, the touch, and the presence of the shade were a distant memory. While the anger… the anger swarmed deep within his gut, undefined and raw. 

A hand touched his back, quelling the drove of emotions and thoughts at the warmth it offered. It ran up along his spine until it met his neck. A second hand slipped over his opposing shoulder to descend down his chest, and then a curtain of vibrant red hair brushed the side of his ear as Malon placed her chin over the same shoulder. 

“Did I wake you?” He murmured, and she loosely coiled her arms around his neck in response. Her breath tickled his ear as she curled into him just as she’d done last night. 

They sat there for a moment, her face tucked against the side of his head as he breathed in her scent. He could get drunk off it, the faint traces of pine accompanied by the sharpness of citrus. It was only when he brought his hand up to her arms, fingers tracing circles along a forearm, that she broke the peace between them.

“Will you be home later tonight too?” Her voice was heavy with sleep, and she tightened her embrace around his neck. 

“Depending on how the interview goes… probably? I also have to take up your suggestion and get permission to have Lon Lon look at the black substance.”

“But you barely even slept…”

He grimaced, knowing full well what she’d wanted to say. _I’m worried about you._ It’s what drove him to gently pull at her arms so that he could turn and face her. His right knee pressing against hers as he sought out her forehead underneath the mess of her bangs. His lips ghosted over her freckled skin while her hands resituated on his shoulders. “I didn’t have a nightmare,” he pulled away, “and I slept pretty well since I was next to you.”

He was doing it again. Ignoring her concern, turning it around, but she was too tired to chastise him. That and he had woken up normally, unlike the past few nights where he’d been thrashing both her and himself awake. “Flattery will not get you anywhere.” 

He caught a glimpse of her smile, and pulled back, smiling faintly himself. As he walked toward the small closet, she buried herself back under the covers. It wasn’t warm enough for her though, not while he was out of bed. “How are you feeling today?” She was muffled underneath the covers, but Link had heard her nonetheless. 

He slipped on a pair of dark tan pants, his eyes scanning over the collared shirts that hung from his side of the closet when she’d spoken up. Her question rekindled the torrent of emotions that the dream had created, forced him to pause as he reached for a black undershirt. If he spoke honestly then she would incessantly worry, as she often did. She worried and stressed enough as it is.

_She doesn’t need to worry about me._

A lie, he knew. Worry, in her case, was the many signs of her endearment for him. Yet it bothered him, to burden her with his troubles. That and she’d surely think he was insane, not worth the trouble.

“Better than yesterday, I guess?”

“Tomorrow is your birthday…”

His blond hair peeked out of the head opening of the shirt, and he snaked his arms through the sleeves in one motion. “Yeah.” _Don’t remind me_ . Adjusting the shirt, he then turned to look for his sweater as her head popped up from the pile of blankets. “I know, I’ll try to get home earlier, but you know I can’t promise anything. This is the _second_ body and we still haven’t figured out the drug.”

He didn’t miss the sigh that resonated in the bedroom. It chased him out into the living room where he found his work boots. They were lying on their side, having been chucked against the wall right beside the door. He’d barely even slipped the right one on, fingers hovering over the lip of the boot, when Malon stumbled after him. Their bedspread licked at her heels as she pulled it tight around her body, her bare legs peeking out at the small opening as she made a beeline to the couch. 

“Do you have to go in today?” He asked as she plopped down, the couch creaking in protest. 

“In a few hours. I don’t want to though… just want to sleep.”

“Well, you have been working an awful lot lately. When’s your next day off?”

“Mm, Saturday, if it all goes well, and I don’t get called in.” 

He nodded along with her words, and found himself hoping that she would get called in. It would mean no surprise birthday party, something he was incredibly fine with, but knowing her, she’d merely postpone it until later in the night. With his second boot on, Link straightened, and said, “I’ll let you know when I get off, if I can.”

They’d made their goodbyes, her parting words wishing him well and asking him to be safe. It was then that he’d hurried out into the autumn morning, tensing against the chill as he rushed to the clammy cold of his cruiser. He’d barely slipped in, turning his key in the ignition, when his eyes gravitated toward the pen. It stood within the passenger side’s cup holder. Seeming innocent and simple, as if the magical blade was a figment, but the dream from earlier burned alongside his conscience. The words of the shade danced around his thoughts, meshing with his own until he reiterated them aloud.

_When Hyrule falls into ruin, a man garbed in green and bearing a courageous heart will appear with the sword of evil's bane._

Those words buzzed along his tongue like poison, and the sound of them brought forth another memory. The book in the library didn't answer his questions, but its contents were similar to the shade’s prophecy. It, too, had mentioned the existence of a hero and a sword, hadn’t it?

What was it the shade had called him?

 _Hero of Time_. It came to him before he could even pose the question, his mouth moving on its own accord, and yet they were made without sound. As if he hadn’t spoken it aloud. Curious, he tried it again, but as he voiced the title, it was voiced in stillness. Silent, nothing, and it only solidified that his insanity was reaching a new level.

“I’m so delusional.”

* * *

Underneath the fluorescent lights, Link found himself admiring the dark tone of Nabooru’s skin. It reminded him of the autumn leaves outside, but warmer and fuller. She sat rigidly in her chair across from him, eyes dead set on the small notepad in his hands as she fingered the drawstring of her dark gray hoodie. Its print nearly screamed across the expanse of the round table, bold letters spelling out _Lanayru Spotligh_ t in bright red letters. Her features didn’t look as sharp as they had last night, but her face remained as blank as a slate. All but her brows showed no sign of emotion or thought.

“This interview is being recorded. Please know that you are not under arrest, and that you can leave whenever you wish.” Pipit spoke up from beside Link, his hands clasped together as he leaned against the table. She nodded absently, ember eyes still glued to Link’s notepad. “We just have a few questions about your employee, a Revali Rito.” Link felt his partner’s eyes on him, signaling him to begin.

Clearing his throat and flipping to the scrawled out questions he’d made hours before the start of the interview, he asked, “When was the last time you saw Mr. Rito?”

“Tuesday. He’d stopped by in the office to pick up his camera at… eight, maybe? Yeah, eight.” Her voice was solemn, brows drawn.

“Did you have any contact with him since then?”

“No.”

“Have you known of him to take any drugs that were not prescribed to him?”

Her face lit up with emotion, her features sharpening into blades as her eyes snapped up to meet Link. Anger flushed out the somber expression, her voice was tinged with certainty, “He was _not_ a drug user.”

“Did he have any connections to drugs?”

“ _No_. Revali isn’t-wasn’t like that. Hell, he rarely had any friends as it was because he was all about the next big scoop. Work was his drug.”

“Did he have any enemies that you were aware of, anyone that would want him dead?” Pipit jumped in. It earned him a look from Link. The idea had been brought up this morning during a briefing between all of CID. Though Revali had not committed to self-harm, he _had_ been tied up. Faint bruises had been found around his wrists and ankles after the ambulance had transported his body to Valoo. Urging them to consider that, if anything, Revali’s death was not from a simple OD.

“He’s a journalist. I’m sure he’s pissed many people off, but made them angry enough to kill him? No.”

“Do you know if he was working on a scoop then? Where did he go Tuesday morning?”

“I had told him to look into requesting an interview with the Department of Child Services about a child abuse case that had fallen through the cracks. I don’t know if he went there though. He has Tuesdays off.”

“Was there anything else he was looking into for Spotlight?”

“No... “ her voice wavered, and her features gradually softened. “I mean, he had a lot of things he wanted to look into, sure. That’s how Spotlight’s journalists are, you know, we seek out cold hard facts. He was always keeping his ear to the ground in hopes to find stories that would put our station above the rest.”

Link nodded slightly as he scrawled out her answers in the form of a bulleted list, his face contorting into a frown. This was getting them nowhere. Surely a journalist had enemies? 

“What kind of stories was he looking out for?” Pipit continued.

“Ones that would make people gasp or stop and think. You know, the ones that pluck at your heartstrings. There really isn’t a way to describe it, the station focuses on all sorts of stories like white collar crimes, drug busts, child abuse cases, animal cruelty, all that.”

“Was there ever a specific story that may have put him in danger?”

“No, not that I’m aware of.”

“Was there ever a point in time where he brought up an idea for a story that could put him in danger?”

“I feel like we’re going in circles with these questions. No.”

“Right, sorry. We’re just trying to figure out if he was in any danger, Ms. Rise.”

“I know, I know.” She sighed and finally leaned against the table with her elbows. Her fingers sought out her temples, eyes closing. “He was such a hard worker, loyal and determined. I’m sure he made some enemies down the line. I did try to keep him from making any dangerous enemies though, as I do with all of my journalists. And would reject some of his ideas. Some of the stories he’d suggested, I’d knock down because we didn’t have enough proof, and we aren't a station that focuses on half-baked lies and baseless scandals.”

“Were there any that you ‘knocked down’ recently?”

“Yeah? Like I said, he’s a hard worker. He’d wanted to do a story on the queen, bring to light how she’s not one for publicity, and is against cameras and videos. It wouldn’t get us anywhere though. So what, you know? It’s just a tradition that the Royal Family has had, but he kept insisting it was strange. Especially because the queen always appeared in cloaks and face masks. I mean, yeah, that’s weird, I guess? But it’s always been like that. Then there was another he’d wanted to look into and air. It had to do with the Ganon Dragmire. You know, the CEO of Lon Lon Industries. He’d kept saying how it was just this huge business front for some underground dealings. That too was far fetched, the guy is all about the people and has helped law enforcement catch the bad guys.”

Link couldn’t help but draw his eyes up from his notepad, the name of Lon Lon’s CEO starting his heart into a frantic rhythm. He’d heard the name of the man many times, but had never met him in person. The idea of that, of meeting him in person, made him feel uneasy. Just as much as hearing his name being spoken aloud, the syllables ringing in his ears. 

Whatever she’d added and whatever Pipit had asked next fell onto deaf ears. The name sparked that ever present nostalgia and fear. Even more so than when he met Ghirahim or saw Nabooru for the first time in person. It both confused him and worried him. Especially when the dream from this morning flitted into his mind once more, the shade’s voice taking flight in his thoughts.

 _The Great Calamity…_ For some reason it felt fitting to use such a title alongside the name of “Ganon Dramgire.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a tough cookie to write, oof! I had a lot on my mind, a lot I wanted to throw out there, but didn't want to give too much too fast. Here's hopin' I did this fanfic justice once again! Until next time!


	9. ENCOUNTERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where our FCPD investigators venture into Lon Lon.
> 
> I barely made it guys, woo! I honestly sat around thinking about how I wanted this to go since last month when I began this chapter.

**NINE - ENCOUNTERS**

Nearing the end of Queen Zelda Daphnes Hyrule VII’s reign, the Royal Family began a tradition that invoked privacy as well as secrecy. According to the history books, the queen had suffered a terrible disease that had caused physical mutations. The mutations, as the text described, were so greatly horrific that the Royal Family sought to cover them with veils. Feeling sympathetic, the remaining Royal Family also made use of veils. The veils became timeless as the nation of Hyrule grew to accept it, seeing it as a way of demonstrating one’s purity as well as one’s humility. 

It was only as Hyrule’s border expanded, technology progressed, and the shift in religious beliefs and practices transpired that the Royal Family set forth a decree. No one was allowed to see a member of the Royal Family’s unveiled face. It, like the initial use of the veils, were accepted though the Royal Family encountered several incidents from both the people and the nation’s allies. The marriage ceremonies were private, the coronations were announced days later, and the occasional assassin always had a wild and colorful story to tell about the Family before he was executed. Each event sparked or revived a rumor that the queen herself was the very queen told in history books that predated the Great War. The rumor itself seemed impossible, unreal, as that would have meant that the queen was none other than Zelda Daphnes Hyrule VII. A queen whose death had been both sudden and tragic. 

And so the rumors were discarded and forgotten, even as the Royal Family kept silent.

The use of the veil and the decrees that followed had started so long ago to the point where the common response was that, as Nabooru Rise had said, it had always been like that. Before, Link had never considered it to be anything but weird. Yet now as both he and Pipit escorted Nabooru out of the FCPD office, he couldn’t help but feel that  _ yes _ , it was weirder than pigs flying. 

There had been many journalists in the past that had tried their damndest to get a picture of the Royal Family member without their masks and veils, but none had ever been successful. If they were, the evidence was always destroyed or missing and they often ended up in jail for a significant amount of time. So the possibility that Revali Rito had been killed for trying to catch the queen without her coverings was extremely far-fetched. 

Ganon Dragmire, on the other hand… that name alone still made his skin not only crawl but burn as if he’d stood against a blazing fire. It’s what drove him to seek out the bathroom. His hands curling around the painfully white porcelain sink until his knuckles turned a similar white. And not even an ounce of water was enough to chill that sizzling unease. 

Pipit found him then, clinging to the sink as if it were an anchor, and drowning himself in splash after splash of cold water. The man had only paused for a moment, brows furrowed, but as soon as Link looked up and set his eyes on his partner’s, the tension that had pressed against him lifted. He turned the faucet off and withdrew, eyes darting anywhere and everywhere but at Pipit’s observant gaze. 

Whether he found the sight odd or concerning, he didn’t show it. Instead, he broke the spell of silence between them with a soft, “Chief wants us to head to Lon Lon. We got a lab request approved in the nick of time, and they stated they would assist in any way that they could.”

“Good-”

“And with what Rise said, we should see if we can get Dragmire alone for a few minutes for an interview.”

Link felt the heat that had coiled around him suddenly rush out of him in a ragged exhale, cold overriding his senses. Yet he took a breath, the inhale bouncing off the walls of the single toilet bathroom, “All right. Let’s hope he’ll agree to it-”

“Oh, don’t worry. As big and as popular as Lon Lon is, they would definitely hate it if their values and reputation were to be questioned.”

_ You should never threaten a beast.  _ The thought, like many in the past few days, was not his own, and yet he knew it to be true. Believed it in his bones. “Shouldn’t we send the evidence along with an Evidence Custodian?”

“And miss this opportunity?” Pipit laughed as he headed out of the bathroom, Link following close behind. 

* * *

Lon Lon towered over them, a monolith that swept the entirety of the crosswalk in shadows. It's height drew Link's eyes skyward, his neck craned as he sought out the building's roof as it scraped along the clouds. Glass walls crawled along the facade, the industry's sign barely even catching his attention until he absently muttered the motto displayed for all to see.  **_Where futures are made_ ** . A motto which felt entirely wrong. As if it were a blemish on an otherwise clear and pristine mirror.

The main entrance opened like a gaping mouth, and as soon as they crossed the threshold, the dread and the fear manifested until they were one with the cold that lingered outside. Both had felt misplaced as he'd never been inside Lon Lon before until this moment. Pipit stood a few feet in front of him, visibly in awe of the huge lobby and its elegant decor while he took off his jacket. While Link kept his eyes on the evidence bag in his hands, the bit of fear evolved into worry that the idea of looking around would somehow draw out his growing insanity. Unlike his partner, he kept his black departmental jacket on in hopes to fend off the icy, ominous premonitions even as they finally walked further into the lobby.

They paused before the row of turnstiles, Pipit veering left to one of the glass cubicles. The cubicle, or a kiosk, was a small pod of glass rounded by dark, wooden countertops that seemed to have been added as an afterthought.

There were two guards, a tall man and a stout woman clad in black clothing with a single word splayed across their chest and back, "Security." The woman had her eyes glued to the farthest monitor, her back to the main entrance, while the man followed Pipit and Link with his eyes. He had taken to one of the rolling chairs that occupied the kiosk, but as soon as Pitpit stopped before the kiosk's archway, he stood. The movement drew the woman's attention, her eyes catching Link's blues for the breadth of a second before she returned to her screen.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The tall man asked as he seemed to stare at the FCPD’s logo etched onto the front of Link’s jacket. His voice was gravel underfoot and thick with suspicion. 

"I hope so. We're from the Faron City Police Department, have some evidence that we'd like Lon Lon to test for us. We were told to just come up to the 'front?'" As Pipit answered, he flashed the gold badge clipped to his belt while Link tapped on the golden logo on his chest. 

"Oh, yes. It'll just be a moment, I'll let the lab know you've come-"

"Perfect. While we're here, we were wondering if we could schedule in a meeting with the head honcho or a subordinate too? We have a few questions pertaining to our investigation, you see."

"Mr. Dragmire is extremely busy and is known to not take impromptu meetings; however, I can notify our Chief of Security, Chief Ghira, about your request. He usually tends to any questions or interviews pertaining to investigations or journalism." As he spoke, Link felt the cold slide down his spine like water. It drew him to shudder, his body seizing up as the security guard moved away from them.

“This may be a useless endeavor after all…” Pipit mused. He’d turned back to Link, a grin on his lips, but as soon as he met Link’s gaze, the smile fell short. “You okay? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

_ No. I haven’t been in a long while. _

“Just cold is all.” He managed a shrug, spit out a laugh that fell lower than Pipit’s frown.

_ We need to leave. We--I--shouldn’t be here.  _

“Seriously? It feels like hell in here, to me. Didn’t you feel that blast of heat when we came in? They must have the heaters on max or something.”

Link raised his eyebrows, doubtful as he most definitely had not felt the warmth. In fact, he was positive that  _ outside  _ was warmer than Lon Lon’s lobby, and although he’d welcomed the numbing cold on multiple occasions, this type of cold was more closely intune with his nightmares. Unforgiving, misplaced, and draining. He shook his head then, faded pieces of past dreams consuming his thoughts. No, that wasn’t quite right. It was more than that. It felt disgustingly  _ wrong _ . A counterfeit copy that violated him underneath his skin, and yet no amount of shivering or tightening of his jacket seemed to quell it. If anything, it just made it worse. As if the icy sensation were alive and irritable. 

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was undoubtedly going mad. A usual and constant suspicion. That or perhaps he was just feeling under the weather. Succumbing to a flu. 

_ If only it were that simple. _

He sighed as the thought cemented. Right, of course,  _ if only _ . If only he wasn’t slowly but surely losing his sanity day by day, like grains in a sand timer. A worry that seemed to constantly appear ever since he’d taken possession of the magical--although it felt weird to even admit it as such--pen. 

That alone introduced another worry. If the loss of his sanity were to continue, would he still be aware of it? Would he still know that he was unstable, detached? Was it possible to continue working and living as he did now when he finally reached that breaking point? And what about Malon?

_ She deserves better. _

“Hey, got any ideas for food after this?”

Yes, she did, and yet he couldn’t picture a day without seeing or hearing her. She was likely one of the main reasons he’d made it as far as he had with each passing year. Her presence, her voice, they somehow tethered him and forced the raging seas of his soul into a somber calm.

“Link?” 

Pipit and he stood beside the kiosk until the security guard returned, his eyes only brushing over Link once before he turned and re-addressed Pipit. “The Chief will be down shortly. If you want, you can go through the first turnstile on this side. We have a few chairs just to the left.” With the instructions, he gestured to the closest turnstile and to a direction beyond the kiosk. “If you need anything, please let me know. Enjoy your stay.” There was a ghost of a smile and then he moved back away from the counter. 

Link moved before his partner did. His mind still turning over and over, a broken clock, while Pipit once again tried to reel him back to the solid here and now. Each call of his name and instance of food didn’t reach him until they passed through the turnstiles. The contraption clicked loudly in his ears and the feel of it only added to the seeping cold. Pipit finally reached forward, Link’s name on his lips, and tapped his shoulder. 

“Link, man, you in there?” 

It was the physical contact that pulled Link back, and he paused midstride. “No, sorry. What is it?”

Pipit sided him, eyes squinting, “I feel like a broken record, but you sure you’re good?”

There was a moment of hesitation. A battle of whipping out a retort, a truth, or a lie, each option tilting on the tip of his tongue, and then he relented with a half-truth. “No, but I will be better once we get some coffee. I don’t think I had much this morning, honestly.” The disbelief was written all over Pipit’s features, from the quirk in the corner of his mouth to the way he crossed his arms over his chest, but he didn’t prod as Link continued leading the way beyond the kiosk.

The chairs, two L-shaped couches, were wide and colored in a vibrant red. They faced each other, surrounding a single glass table that held an assortment of pamphlets showcasing Lon Lon's services and promises. An elderly man garbed in a neatly ironed suit sat on one cushion, his eyes digging through a single pamphlet in-hand. Beside the couches and to the man's right, farther away from the row of turnstiles, sat another cluster of red seats accompanied by a glass table. Link chose the latter, but Pipit, for some reason unknown to him, found his seat across from the older man and immediately began to strike up conversation. That was fine, he needed a moment of solidarity. A chance to reel in any semblance of insanity or delusions. Perhaps even find a way to calm the cold that caked his bones.

He didn't get very far, unable to wade through his clamoring thoughts, before the cold began to move. It slithered up to the back of his neck, electrifying and numbing. Warning, fear, a menacing awareness, stung him and rekindled the earlier thought--no--need to  _ leave _ . 

"Oh, Mr. Link?" The voice was peppered spray, a mixture of unrelenting fire and ice. Link's fingers dug into the thick plastic of the evidence bag until it threatened to rip in his hands.

He turned in his seat, all noise of the lobby falling into a subtle hum. Chief Ghira, or Ghirahim, stood just an arm's length away from the back of the couch. Bile gnawed on the back of his throat as the man inched closer. Ghirahim smiled kindly, flashing a perfect row of teeth. It drew out the shadows along his cheekbones, the hollowness making the gesture seem forced, insincere. It looked out of place, just like the tight fitting uniform of dark navy blue. Its high collar was folded neatly back, the edges as sharp as a knife, and the crisp embroidery on his chest etched out a thin “Ghirahim Nomeds, Chief of Security” in blinding white. The color contrasted greatly with his snowy skin and dead black eyes, making him appear as a shadow of death.

"I didn't think I'd get the pleasure of seeing you again." Much like the first time he’d met the man, that smile, those words, and that sweet voice of his, it all sounded incredibly and painfully crooked. "Though I do wish it was under different circumstances. I heard about the investigation earlier, it's awful!" His watery sweet tone sent a spider-like walk down Link's spine. Ghirahim extended a hand then as remnants of his toothy smile still ghosted along his lips. It took all Link had to not visibly flinch, to stand up right then and there and leave.

Yet he couldn't hide the faint grimace that overtook him as he took Ghirahim's hand. The handshake lasted barely even a heartbeat before Link quickly wrenched his hand free as if the others hand had scorched him. “I didn’t realize you were over security here…” Link teetered on the edge of wariness, his unease clear as Ghirahim’s smile fell minutely. He’d said that, meant it, but somehow a part of Link said that this shouldn’t surprise him.

_ After all, demons are everywhere. _

“Valoo is one of the many hospitals and offices that have partnered with Lon Lon. As a thanks for their partnership, Lon Lon often shares its resources and manpower. The security department is no exception.”

It was a good play on the company’s part. Put your “partners” in debt by providing resources that, in the end, they could not do without. Though he didn’t know much of Valoo’s financial standing, he knew that most if not all of the medical facilities depended on Lon Lon’s power. 

“You must be very busy then… why did they call you down here for this?” Link shook the evidence bag between them, pulling Ghirahim’s eyes to it. 

“Precautionary nonsense, if you ask me. Though you are a man with a badge, we cannot help but be wary. For all we know, you could be cajoling with a rival of Lon Lon and will report anything of value that you are not permitted to see. Like a prototype vaccine or even something as small as mundane medical methodologies and observations.” The man shrugged. “Usually we’d just bother a security guard with assisting you, or an agent from Human Resources if it were a tour. Of course, your being here isn’t for something as simple as a tour or interview of sorts. Now, is that the only item of evidence that you have?” He gestured to the bag in-hand, “Evidence” printed along the bright red seal peeked through Link’s fingers. 

“Yes,” Link ignored the outstretched hand, his eyes shifting to Pipit who was still deep in conversation with the old man, “and my partner has a physical copy of the lab request for it. We just need it analyzed. Get a better idea of what it might be. And, if possible, we’d like to schedule an appointment with Lon Lon’s founder, Ganon Dragmire.”

He barely missed the way Ghirahim’s lip curled on the side, his brows furrowed during the mention of the CEO. Was that from concern, confusion… no, something else. “May I ask why?”

“We just have a few questions to ask him about Lon Lon in general. Also, if it would be possible if we could ask for an interview with any of the security guards that were working the past few days. We have reason to believe that the recent victim from whatever this may be might have been last seen here.”

The look that had flitted across the man’s face did not change in the slightest as he seemed to eat those words slowly. Considering his response. “You have reason, hmm...” he tilted his head then, a sharp and strange gesture, and then his curled lip and drawn brows eased, “you suggest that this individual, a journalist, was it? You suggest that he might have come by here? Well, it’s possible considering how vast and prosperous this company is. We’ve had many curious journalists come here, and all of them are required to sign in at one of the kiosks. I'll get our schedule to you then and try to gather those who were stationed at the front desk on whatever day or time you require. As well as the sign-in sheet.” 

“We aren’t making any assumptions or claims, we just need to see if we can assess a timeline of some sort.”

“Right, of course, of course. I understand. Now, about meeting Mr. Dragmire, I will have to see if he has any openings. If you would, please wait here a moment. I will send for a lab technician to take you and your partner,” his gaze slid to the redhead, the investigator seeming oblivious of the conversation between Link and him, “up to our lab. We should be able to provide you some idea and more detail to whatever it is you have in your hand.”

He offered a smile, one that Link did not return, and turned on his heel. His pace was slow, predatory, and Link watched him until he stood before one of the elevators farther into the lobby. The cold that had sought refuge along his skin and under his bones seemed less bitter, softer, but he still shivered against his jacket. He looked to Pipit then to relay Ghirahim’s words, missing the Chief of Security’s final look that dripped with venom in his direction before the elevator’s doors slid shut.

Ghirahim mused Link’s requests as he let his dark gaze linger on the blond-haired investigator even as the elevator began to ascend.  _ The nerve…  _ the words burned in his mind, lashing out against the dark of his absent conscience. And yet a smile split across his face nonetheless, large and feline. The nerve that these investigators had, but oh, this would be fun. For they would find  _ nothing _ , just as his master had ordered. 

Speaking of, before assessing the empty space of the elevator, he brought out his phone. He sent a quick message to one of the company’s text groups, to one of their labs, before dialing his master’s number. His smile cut dark lines across the hollows of his cheeks.

**_“This call had better be important.”_ ** The voice buzzed in static and darkness, gravel and glass, on the first ring. 

“The FCPD have come and they wish for an audience with you. As well as to question my security on if they saw our dear rat.”

There was a beat of silence then a gruff, thick chuckle.  **_“Wonderful. Let us give them everything their little hearts desire. Though an audience…”_ **

Ghirahim nodded, “Yes, I know well of your schedule today. However, I believe it would benefit you greatly. Though his name had escaped me before… and the name is rather common, it wouldn’t hurt for you to see and observe him for yourself.”

**_“Oh? A name? Does one of the investigators share the name? Regardless, that means nothing. After his death, many shared his first name out of childish, baseless reasons.”_ **

“But did you not believe in Zelda’s claim, and did you not ask for me to fetch the Mirror? It wouldn’t hurt to see him for yourself.”

**_“Yes, but if the outcome is that I have wasted precious time, you will not see the end of it.”_ **

“I do love when you threaten me. It reminds me of the old days.”

* * *

The lab technician that had originally come to escort them to one of the upper floors ended up taking the evidence bag and leaving instead. “Sorry, but we can’t have non-personnel in the lab.” Had been the excuse. “In the meantime, I can schedule a tour for you both, if you’d like?” It was Link that spoke up, declining the offer as soon as it had been said.

Only when they’d been left alone again did Link sink back down into the red cushions. Pipit joined him this time, and brought out his notepad that was much larger and newer than Link’s own palm-sized pad. He flipped it open, reading off what they knew in a voice that was easily drowned out by the noise of the lobby. 

With a leg crossed over the other, Link watched his partner for a time in silence. Pipit’s words barely reached him despite the way he leaned in, eager for a distraction, but even when he sat right beside the redhead, his partner’s words were akin to a dull hum. Strange, but he thought nothing of it as he too fished through his pockets in search of his own notepad. As if to cross reference or jot down a few words, but like with his mind in the past few weeks, his thoughts escaped him. Like the puff of a dandelion on the wind, he found himself lost.

The question of why was quickly answered as he stared at the worn cover of his notepad. The ominous feeling from before still glazed over his senses, a warning still thrummed along his nerves. 

“Have you ever heard of the Hero of Time?” He spoke without thinking, his voice able to make use of the title he hadn’t been able to say much earlier. 

Pipit didn’t respond. Had he spoken too softly, perhaps even imagined he’d said it? Link looked up then, his blue eyes catching along Pipit’s face. 

The man that sat beside him was frozen. A figment trapped in a pocket of time. His eyes were glued to the small pad in his grasp. His mouth was still and opened as if waiting to chew on a word that he had yet to give life to.

Link leaned back, the cushion dead silent underneath his sharp movement. In fact, the lobby… his head whipped around, snagging on the frozen strides, the silent mouths, and the closed off eyes. The elderly man from before was in the middle of turning a pamphlet from the table over. One of the security guards at the first kiosk was on the verge of standing up from a monitor, her head partially turned to her partner who was stuck eternally with a phone to his ear. The elevator, the closest to them, was trapped between the floors. Suspended, anchors in a dead sea.

_ “You shouldn’t be here.” _

A disoriented choir resounded out of a pit, hollow and grave, until the noise settled onto a single note. It sparked nostalgia first before fear gripped him by the heart, pulling him to his feet. 

_ “This is no place for a Hero such as you.” _

He spun on his heels, nearly bumping into the table, in search of that voice. As far as he knew, it had only made itself known in his dreams. It was only as he circled and drew away from the couches that he found the figure, the shade, standing right before the main entrance of Lon Lon. Its armor, like in his dreams, was rusted and cracked. Its single red eye pulsed along each syllable until it began to mimic the beat of his heart. 

“Why?” No, that’s not what he wanted to say, but words, as they often did, failed him. 

Why did he feel like this, lost and afraid? Why was something out of his dreams  _ here _ of all places?

_ “Have you forgotten already?”  _

Forgotten… forgotten what, the dream from last night? How could  _ he forget _ ? Every dream, not just the one the shade had appeared in, was etched into the back of his head, burned into his eyelids, and carved into his skin. 

“Of course not, but why-”

_ “Surely you too have felt it, the corruption and darkness that lingers in these walls.”  _ It waved a skeletal hand around itself, Link noticing that its figure bore no reflection along the floor or the glass beyond it.  _ “You are not yet ready to face the beast of such malevolence. If you meet with them now, then the events that will unfold will surely alter the course of destiny. You must leave here, Hero, before it is too late.” _

“Could you please stop talking like that? Just say it!”

_ “I have said it. Time and time again, and this is not what I meant. You must face your demons, this is clear, but your existence cannot yet be discovered. Not like this.”  _

He struggled with the meaning behind the shade’s words, hands clenched at his sides while the notepad in his own hand crinkled. So this place was dangerous, but what about it was so bad? Sure, he was oddly cold. A sensation that wasn’t easily explained as walking outside without a scrap of clothing on. Not to mention how he felt despite that cold. He had found himself climbing out of an abyss with no end as soon as Ghirahim or Lon Lon’s founder came into view, whether it be their presence or name. But all of that, plus the dream, “This ‘Hero’ crap is impossible! You’re making no sense! Please just say it plainly.”

_ Denial _ , he winced as his conscience took that single word and ran with it. Yes, he was in denial, but though it all sounded far-fetched, irrational, batshit crazy, it felt right. It made sense in some way. As if someone was on the verge of making a foggy mirror clear again. 

_ “Lies. Do you require me to write it out for you?”  _ It tilted its head,  _ “You are dishonest with yourself. That much is clear. And I neither have enough power nor time to set you on the right path, that is, if you fail to heed my words. No matter the reason, you must leave.”  _ Urgency accompanied its words, but before he could manage a word of his own,

"Hero of Time… is that some new Marvel hero?" Pipit spoke up, breaking the spell, and as time spilled over the lobby, the shade vanished.

His eyes searched for the skeleton, and he found himself still seated on the red cushions with Pipit beside him. Breath caught in his throat when he realized that the shade was gone, and that perhaps their encounter hadn’t happened. Perhaps it had never been there in the first place? A hallucination. And yet it's words, much like they had in his dream, felt solid and real. 

"Link, man? Didn't mean to upset you. You know I'm not that knowledgeable when it comes to the super hero stuff." His body snapped to his partner. Pipit had leaned forward in his seat, brows raised in question, but Link must have had a tell because he stood at lightning speed. He reached for Link's shoulders, stilling him before his worries and woes could try to consume him. "Whoa! Forget keeling over. You look like you're about to hurl."

Should he tell him? How would he explain it if he did?

"I'm not sure. I think-think it could be the flu?"

"Well you did say you were cold which is still hard to believe. I'm burning up here," Pipit relinquished Link's shoulders to pick at his own long-sleeved shirt. "Think you'll be okay to stay and meet Dragmire?"

He should say yes. This, an interview, was just a part of his job after all. One of which he'd said he'd be a part of as soon as he and Pipit had agreed to take on the investigation. 

"No." The response slipped past his lips, compelled by the cold and the fear that clung to him. “I’m going out. I’ll be in the cruiser.” He winced at his audible fragility, and didn’t miss the way Pipit’s questioning face twisted into one of concern. 

Without giving his partner a moment to respond, he headed for the turnstiles. On the verge of running, he pushed past the stiles and stumbled to the main entrance, drawing the attention of the security guards as he nearly slammed into the glass doors. It was a necessity though because as soon as he passed the threshold, the dimension between the hell that was Lon Lon and the autumn wind, the cold fell from him. The chilly outside air brushed against him, stripped the abominable cold as if it were a layer of his skin, and relief skittered over his nerves. 

The freedom and ease that enveloped him nearly had him falling, but as he took a measly two staggering steps forward, he felt his heart lurch. It shuddered against his ribcage, demanding his hands to cover the corner of his chest. The fluttering was sharp, as if his heart was in desperate need to escape the clutches of his bones. It pulsed like a bleeding wound, and as he stumbled, feet tripping against the solidity he’d thought he’d found, someone caught him.

The grip was hellish. A scalding eruption of anger, pain, hatred, and war sliced into his left arm until it swarmed. It ran along his limb, tainting the skin underneath his jacket until it met his hand. Ghost pains from past nightmares and hallucinations made themselves known, triggering the memory of that strange triangular symbol that cut into his flesh.

“You all right?” That thudding pain of his heart fell into silence so abruptly that it drew the breath from his lungs, the blood from his vessels. 

It was the epitome of carnage, of famine and plague, of the wrong and the vile. A voice that held so much heavy malice that he found himself shivering from its weight. The speaker’s hand did not relent against his shuddering, if anything those sharp fingers only tightened around his arm and pulled him closer. As if forcing him to meet their gaze, and though everything within him screamed to not look up, he pulled his eyes upward only to careen back at the sea of molten amber dug into a canvas of a dark desert.

Electricity, more vicious than the spark he’d felt from Ghirahim’s presence, lashed at him and he reeled back. He ripped his arm free, eyes wide as the towering figure before him unlocked a tumoutlous wave of melancholy.

_ I know this crippling presence, those eyes that hold the sun.  _

His behaviour was certainly strange, but the man made no move to comment. No, he only offered a gentle smile, one that looked disturbingly wrong. “Sorry, I thought you were going to fall.” The power of his voice did not fade, neither did the way his gaze lingered over Link. Either observing or admiring, Link wasn’t sure. “Are you perhaps not feeling well or has one of my security guards treated you unfairly?”

_ His  _ security guards… “who?” he huffed the word, struggled to get enough precious oxygen in his lungs.

“Oh, rude of me. I’m Ganon-”

**_The Great Calamity._ **

“Dragmire, founder of Lon Lon.”

Death. That’s what this feeling could only be described as, its embrace slowly suffocating him. It was heavy, thick, and reeked of iron and copper. It pushed him back a step, body rigid as something akin to rigor mortis slithered up from his toes to the top of his head. A blast of gelid winter struck him, accompanied by the weight of forbidding fear. Yet instead of life flashing before his eyes, it was the monsters’ faces that haunted his sleep every night.

“Link, hold on! I-oh.” Link’s eyes reached a new size as his partner yelled from somewhere beyond them, a warning buzzing through him as his own name settled between Dragmire and him.

“Link?” The man asked, his kind smile evolving into something much more wicked than any of the monsters that had wreaked havoc in his nightmares. It seemed to speak for him, silent words that only Link could hear,  _ “What an interesting name.” _

Pipit sided Link, his presence weak in comparison to the man that towered before them. “‘Scuse me,” he nodded to Dragmire, turning to Link, “but hey, I was going to say before you bounced off that we can just postpone. I’m sure that he-” he paused as soon as Link dragged his eyes away from Ganon’s steady gaze. His eyes, like Ganon’s smile, must have spoken a thousand words in silence. Yet each of them fell on deaf ears, misinterpreted as Pipit addressed the man. “Mr. Dragmire?”

He nodded, strands of red hair falling into his eyes yet nothing could obscure the intensity in those golden orbs. “You two must be the two investigators from FCPD,” his eyes left Link’s for the fraction of a second to take in the law enforcement emblem on Link’s jacket. “I was told that you would like an audience with me. I’ve just come back from a meeting, and have an hour or so free, if you’d like.”

**_Run, Hero. Run._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huehue, cliffhangers are such a wicked thing, aren't they?


End file.
